


Black Swan

by couronnedesfleurs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Ballet, Ballet dancer luke skywalker, Dancing, Darth Vader Has Issues, Darth Vader's A+ parenting, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, I'm proud to be originating that tag, Inspired by Black Swan (BTS), Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker Are Not Related, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Luke Skywalker is a Sweetheart, Skywalker Family Drama (Star Wars), Suitless Darth Vader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couronnedesfleurs/pseuds/couronnedesfleurs
Summary: Luke’s starring role in Swan Lake is threatened by the arrival of jaded ballet prodigy Vader, who seems to have it in for the young dancer.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Ezra Bridger/Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 87
Kudos: 142





	1. First Position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke’s starring role in Swan Lake is threatened by the arrival of jaded ballet prodigy Vader, who seems to have it in for the young dancer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wrote itself in five hours straight today after a single idea spiralled from a series of unfortunate events, and now I'm completely obsessed with ballet dancer Luke. 
> 
> I fucking love Tchaikovsky and if you haven’t listened to Swan Lake please do so immediately, it’s so beautiful and the finale makes me sob every. Single. Time. 
> 
> I haven’t done ballet for many years so my technical knowledge is very limited and I’m sorry if I have facts/terms wrong. Enjoy!

‘ _Again.’_

Vader’s harsh rumble echoed off the polished oak panels.

Wiping his sweaty hair out of his face, Luke steeled himself. Exhaustion had long since crept its weary way into his bones, and his thighs were on fire. Nevertheless, he met Vader’s glare with his cool blue gaze, and resumed his first position.

He would not, under any circumstances, show weakness in front of this man.

Dancing had always been Luke’s passion, his life, his _raison d’être,_ since he was a very young boy _._ It came as easily to him as breathing, and it didn’t take long for Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen to realise that Luke was destined to be a dancer. Although he’d had no exposure to ballet- they were too poor for a television, let alone to buy tickets to an actual performance-, it seemed to be ingrained into his DNA. It was wholly unsurprising, though, when considering who his parents had been- and more importantly _what_ they had been. When they looked back, it was inevitable that Luke would turn out just like them, though he had no knowledge of his birth parents. They’d decided it was easier that way, to save Luke from pain.

He danced from morning until night and did little else, with absolutely no interest in the other neighbourhood children’s pursuits. Instead, he would practise for hours on end, perfecting his pirouettes and using the kitchen counter as a barre to do his exercises before Owen grumbled that the kitchen was for food, not ballet.

Initially, Owen had been disappointed- not because he thought ballet was for girls, but because he’d hoped Luke would want to carry on the family business and take over the farm. Ballet was such a demanding profession, with fierce competition, and very narrow margins for true success. Even for those who made it, their star only burned brightly for a limited time, before being inevitably replaced by the next talented young thing.

But if anyone could do it, it was Luke.

After several late-night discussions and much fretted calculating of finances with Beru, they enrolled Luke into dance classes. Neither would ever forget the look that passed over Luke’s face as they told him the news, the light that seemed to switch on inside him and had never gone out since. He’d dropped his new ballet shoes on the ground and run to them, trying to wrap his short arms around both of them at once.

‘Thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU!’ he exclaimed, his grin so wide it could rival the sun. Beru smiled tearily, wishing that the boy’s mother could see him now. 

‘Yes, well, you still have to uphold your end of the bargain, Luke. You must go to regular school alongside dance classes until you’re at least sixteen, and you must get your education certificate,’ Owen warned gruffly; though he placed a hand fondly on Luke’s shoulder as he did so.

‘I will, Uncle Owen. I promise I won’t let you down.’

And he hadn’t. Over the years Luke had worked hard at his studies, achieving good marks, whilst blossoming into a truly remarkable young dancer. Even Owen, who knew little about art and even less about ballet, could see that Luke was a rare talent when they went to watch his performances. He was technically advanced and physically strong, but it was more than that. Luke made the audience _feel_ something when they watched him, weaving a story and a melody into his graceful arms and extensions, captivating them for the whole two hours until they were thrust back into the real world by the thunderous applause, unconscious tears running down their faces.

Which was why they accepted with little fuss when Luke informed them he would be leaving school after gaining his certificate, with the aim of joining the New York City Ballet.

‘I can’t say I’m surprised, Luke,’ Beru said with a sad smile as she cupped his cheek, ‘you were born to do this. But I worry about how you will support yourself…’

She exchanged a glance with her husband. Times had been hard, and though farming was usually a steady prospect, a few seasons of poor harvest had tightened their purse strings considerably. She wanted more than anything to encourage Luke to pursue his dream, but they simply couldn’t help him financially. Sending him to dance classes had already drained their savings away.

‘That’s okay, Aunt Beru. I took up several jobs outside of school, and I’ve saved a fair amount. Enough to get me to New York for the audition, anyway.’

She stared at him in astonishment as Owen sputtered.

‘W-what- when did you have the time to work?’

‘I worked at the studio outside of lessons- cleaning, doing admin work and things like that. I also had a few other small jobs on the side.’

Owen Lars was a proud man, and a part of him railed at the thought of his nephew doing menial jobs to support himself. If he’d just settled down and applied himself at the farm, there would have been no need for it. His aunt and uncle would have provided him with everything.

But as he stared at Luke, the more it occurred to him that he wasn’t looking at a little boy anymore. Luke was now becoming a man, and a man must make his way in life on his own terms. He’d proved his work ethic and dedication to dancing, and Owen would not stand in his way.

The morning of farewell came quickly, more quickly than any of them had expected. After an excellent reference from Luke’s teacher, the New York City Ballet had swiftly confirmed Luke’s audition date, and he was all packed and ready to go. None of them said it, but they knew it would be the last time Luke set foot in the Lars farmhouse for a while. Once he made it to New York, he wasn’t coming back. Not for a long time.

Beru had promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but seeing Luke so grown up and ready to leave them for good was too much for her, and she couldn’t stop a few tears from escaping.

‘You know we’ll always be here, Luke. We’re just at the end of the phone. If things don’t work out, or they aren’t what you were expecting, you always have a place with us,’ she said into his shoulder as they embraced fiercely.

When they eventually broke apart, Luke was surprised to see that his Uncle was also emotional, and he had to blink a few of his own tears away. Whereas Beru was outwardly affectionate and motherly, Owen had never fully understood Luke; he was a practical man down to the bone, and Luke’s dreamer ways had always existed on a different plain of reality to his solid functionality.

But as he pulled Luke into his arms for a rare hug, Luke wondered whether Owen had cared more than he’d let on.

‘Don’t let anybody tell you you’re no good, or you’re lesser than, because of where you came from,’ Owen said firmly to his nephew, ‘you have just as much right to be there as anyone else. Dancing is in your blood, boy.’

Pulling away from Luke, he produced a small bag that Luke hadn’t noticed before and handed it to him without a word.

Brow furrowed, knowing they couldn’t afford presents, Luke reached in, and his palm met a solid block underneath a smooth satin exterior.

‘These were your mother’s,’ Beru said softly as Luke pulled out the pointe shoes with trembling hands, ‘we thought it was high time they were returned to you.’

Luke cradled them reverently, examining the slippers as if they were precious jewels. He knew that a dancer’s shoes hid all kinds of secrets and stories if you knew where to look. From their cut and size and the shape of the box, he could tell his mother had had small bones and high arches- just like him. The satin was expensive and looked brand new, despite the age of the shoes, and he wondered if these had been a particularly special pair that she’d taken great pains not to scuff or wear out too quickly. But what particularly stood out about his mother’s shoes was the intricate beadwork along the throat, tiny sparkling hand-sewn gems that resembled flowers.

He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t force words past the lump in his throat. Beru smiled through watery eyes.

‘It’s okay, Luke. You don’t have to say anything. Now you’d better get on, or you’ll miss your train.’

* * *

‘Sloppy, _again._ I am wasting my time giving you direction, seeing as it falls on deaf ears. Or is it that you think you’re too good for it? That you’re above the critique of a retired dancer, one whose light never shone as brightly as the famed Luke Lars?’

Luke was gentle by nature, and liked to get along with everyone. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to slip off one of his shoes and hurl it at the infuriating maestro.

Excited hadn’t been the word when he’d found out that Vader would be the guest choreographer for their winter production of _Swan Lake_. The entire company had been in utter shock and disbelief at the news; not only that Vader was coming out of retirement to work with them, but chiefly that Vader would consent to being in the same room as Obi-Wan Kenobi, the director of the New York City Ballet and Vader’s fierce rival during the peak of their careers. They were without a doubt two of the most famous male dancers of all time, and had come from a great lineage of ballet royalty.

‘This is going to be the best _Swan Lake_ the world has ever seen!’ Luke exclaimed to Leia when they’d seen the bulletin board. Leia looked slightly dazed, re-reading the elegant cursive words.

‘They can’t mean the _actual_ Vader, surely?’ she said slowly, turning to stare at Luke, ‘ _the_ Darth Vader, who has danced every iconic role ever created for male dancers in the history of ballet? Who originated the role of Dominick in _La Princesse et La Pauvresse?’_

‘The very same,’ Luke breathed, his eyes shining, ‘and he’s coming to work with _us!!_ We’re the luckiest dancers _ever_.’

Arm in arm, they made their way to the canteen, which was unusually quiet amidst the bombshell of the news. They joined the queue with ease, chattering all the while. 

‘The Bolshoi are going to be green with envy. First they missed out on having you in their troupe, and now Vader has spurned them in favour of us,’ Leia said excitedly, ‘he’s always in high demand, but he never deigns to respond. He’s basically come out of retirement to do this. I wouldn’t be surprised if we get a horde of Russians banging down our door in a few days.’

‘I wouldn’t say ‘ _missed out’_ , they have the best dancers in the world,’ Luke started before Leia fixed him with one of her famous looks.

‘Don’t even try it, Luke. You and I both know you’re the best male dancer in this school, and you could’ve chosen anywhere to study. The Bolshoi were lapping at your heels to get you to sign their contract.’

‘Well, I’m glad I didn’t. I like it here, and I don’t want to leave,’ Luke said decisively as they sat down.

‘Of course you don’t. You have me for a best friend, and Obi-Wan _loves_ you. And, of course, there is the small matter of your oh-so-loving boyfriend-’

‘Leia! We agreed not to talk about Ezra in public,’ Luke hissed, eyes darting left and right for eavesdroppers, ‘how would you like it if I brought up Han?’

Whilst it was an antiquated idea that dancers couldn’t have relationships, it was seen as the beginning of the end for a dancer’s career. Relationships led to marriage which led to children.

Leia rolled her eyes, snatching the apple out of Luke’s hand and taking a bite.

‘Calm yourself, golden boy. There’s no one listening, and even if they were, they wouldn’t _care._ It’s only you that seems to have this pointless paranoia. I couldn’t care less if people know about me and Han. In fact, it might help me out. Lando is simply not getting the hint that I’m not interested.’

Luke privately thought that wasn’t completely true, but he let it go and changed the subject.

‘You have to be Odette, of course. There’s absolutely no competition, especially not now that Mara has left-’

‘So you’re saying she _would_ have been a threat if she’d stayed?’ Leia said in outrage, only half joking. It was Luke’s turn to roll his eyes.

‘ _Please_ , you said yourself she was the only other dancer on your level- though she probably would’ve been cast as Odile, she had the look for it,’ Luke said thoughtfully. Leia shook her head.

‘I heard that they’re doing away with the avant-garde this time. Odette and Odile will be played by the same dancer, as they were traditionally. Which means one thing, and one thing only:’

She leaned forward with a glint in her eyes.

‘It’s every ballerina for herself.’

The next few weeks before Vader’s arrival were, for lack of a better phrase, a battlefield. Small scuffles had broken out amongst dancers in the wings, whilst tensions were rising and the pressure was palpable. All sense of camaraderie and friendship had vanished. Every single dancer wanted to be Odette- no, _needed_ to be Odette, and they would go to any lengths to achieve it.

Luke kept a wary eye out for his best friend, knowing she would be the main target of any petty jealousy or sabotage. She was a truly beautiful dancer, with an unsurpassed fire and energy in her movements which could swiftly morph into grace and delicacy and back again. From his eternal hero worship of Vader and the many nights spent watching his past performances online, Luke knew this duality was exactly what Vader would be looking for in his leading lady.

Although shattered dreams were to be expected, Luke’s stomach still flipped when he was asked to report to Obi-Wan’s office in the middle of stretching. Answering Leia’s concerned glance with a shrug, he left, and made his way through the halls and up the stairs to the principal’s office on the top floor.

‘Oh, Mr Lars! Thank you for coming so promptly. Come on in, don’t stand on ceremony,’ Obi-Wan said kindly as Luke knocked and poked his head around the door.

Despite only being in Obi-Wan’s office a few times, it never failed to make an impression. His walls were adorned with portraits of the greatest dancers of the century, including his own lineage- Yan Dooku, who had shown great promise until a descent into drugs and alcohol had cut short his career, and Qui-Gon Jinn, who was notorious for the unconventional training style he’d adopted. Obi-Wan’s own portrait hung next to him, showcasing his defining role as the Firebird, a performance that Luke dreamed of paying homage to one day. There was even a portrait of Vader, Kenobi’s protégé-turned-rival- though from press interviews, Luke had always noticed that Vader’s contempt for Kenobi far outweighed Kenobi’s disdain for him. Instead, Kenobi always seemed tired, even sad, when the feud was brought up, and Luke knew there was more to the story than met the eye.

In pride of place, however, was a likeness of the most famous ballerina in the world. Padmé Amidala, resplendent in a pale pink tulle dress, en pointe as she’d spent most of her life, her dark hair pinned up into a crown of flowers as she danced _Coppelia_. 

She was Luke’s idol- more so, perhaps, than even Vader. Her elegance and beauty were the untouchable standard for any ballerina, and she’d danced every role that had ever been worth dancing. The defining moment of her career was when she’d played the dual role of Odette and Odile in the most famous production of _Swan Lake_ at the Royal Opera House in London _,_ which was frequently cited as the most moving piece of art in performance history. Luke had lost count of the number of times he’d re-watched it, tears streaming down his face at the emotion in her face and movements, trying to emulate her arabesques and mirror her jetés.

It was doubly famous, however, for being the last time Padmé Amidala would ever dance in public. Not long afterwards she announced her retirement due to pregnancy, only to pass away with the baby in childbirth unexpectedly. The dance world eternally mourned her, an angelic martyr forever burned in their consciousness, and it was perhaps this fall from grace that instigated Luke’s fear about relationships and families. It seemed that the world of a parent and the world of a dancer would forever be at odds.

‘How are you getting on, Luke? Mistress Tano tells me that you’ve made great progress in your tech classes.’

Luke smiled, thinking of Ahsoka and her blunt corrections, tempered by a sweet nature.

‘Yes, she keeps us all on our toes.’

‘Good, good. And your friend Miss Organa?’

Ah. So _that’s_ why he was here, to provide a character reference for Leia. Although skill and talent were undeniably important, Obi-Wan was very stern about a dancer’s attitude and the way they carried themselves, as well as how they treated others.

‘She’s doing well, Sir. She’s been working incredibly hard, and is very much looking forward to the upcoming auditions for _Swan Lake_ and collaborating with Master Vader. I’ve personally seen her audition piece, and it is exquisite,’ Luke enthused, piling on the praise for his friend.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his wingback armchair, his face falling slightly.

‘I see. I’m glad to hear she’s been working hard; I only hope that she won’t be too disappointed.’

Luke sat up straighter, feeling alarm on Leia’s behalf. Had they already cast Odette based on the merit of past productions?

‘You must be wondering why I pulled you from your classes to ask you such mundane questions, and I suppose I am prevaricating.’

He fixed Luke with his calm turquoise eyes, and Luke felt the familiar wave of awe wash over him at the fact he was sat here in front of _the_ Obi-Wan Kenobi. Although he’d been part of the company for almost five years now, the thrill never got old.

‘The truth is, Miss Organa will not be considered for the role of Odette. Neither will any of the other female dancers.’

Luke gaped at him.

‘In the past, we have split the parts of Odette and Odile to create a more daring production. However, I felt the need to go bolder, to do something no company has ever done before. The roles of Siegfried and Odette will therefore be switched; that is to say, a female dancer will play Princess Siegfrieda, and a male dancer will dance Odette. Obviously, significant changes have to be made to the choreography, which is why I’ve brought in Master Vader-’

Luke zoned out the rest of Obi-Wan’s speech, floored by the news. Leia would be so disappointed, though she’d quickly dust herself off and battle everyone else for the role of the Princess, and probably win. Her father was a senator and she naturally had a regal air about her which should surely help.

‘- and I think you’d be perfect for the main role. Auditions must be observed as a formality, I’m sure you will understand that, but-’

‘ _What?!’_ Luke spluttered, before realising he’d spoken back to the managing director of his company. ‘I mean, forgive me, Master Kenobi, I’m just a bit… surprised.’

‘You shouldn’t be,’ Obi-Wan said matter-of-factly, ‘you’re the best male dancer we have. One of the best there is, I dare say. You will make a splendid Odette.’

‘B-but I haven’t got anything prepared for the audition,’ Luke began shakily, but Obi-Wan waved him off.

‘Just perform whatever’s most recent in your memory. It doesn’t take a genius to see you will be a great fit for the role, even if it is unconventional. I’m sure even Vader will agree.’

Obi-Wan smiled at him with such encouragement and confidence that for one beautiful moment, Luke believed him. This fuelled his enthusiasm and drive over the next few weeks as he dedicated all his time to absolutely nailing that audition. He worked all through the day and most of the night for the next few weeks until he could do his routine backwards. Obi-Wan had hinted he’d already basically been given the part, but Luke wanted to earn it fair and square. He didn’t like being handed things; he enjoyed the hard work and dedication that came with achieving his goals, and made the triumph even sweeter.

He was supported unequivocally by Leia- who had squealed in delight when he’d told her the news and flung her arms around his neck in congratulations, any sign of disappointment carefully concealed- and Ezra, who had reserved a table at their favourite restaurant as soon as Luke rung to tell him, shakily, what had happened.

‘This is _incredible,_ Luke. You’ll be the first male dancer to dance Odette in history!’ Ezra smiled at him over the candlelight at dinner, his thumb stroking Luke’s knuckles.

Luke grimaced.

‘I haven’t got the part yet. There’ll be tough competition, I know male dancers are outnumbered and rarer but we still have a fair few in our troupe and they’re very talented-’

‘That may be, but they’re not _you,’_ Ezra cut through his rambling gently, ‘you’ll blow their minds, like you always do. Vader would be a fool not to love you at first sight.’

Luke wanted so badly to believe Ezra’s words, and he barely slept the night before audition day, too excited and nervous to rest.

He was there bright and early on Monday morning, kissing a sleeping Ezra on the cheek at 5:35 am before leaving the apartment and meeting up with Leia, speed walking to the company building after grabbing a coffee. They were buzzing to not only catch their first glimpse of Vader in the flesh, but to actually meet him.

He was not, it seemed, buzzing to meet _them_.

From the moment Vader arrived, it was obvious he’d rather be anywhere else. He barely glanced at the students, gazing in awe as he stepped out from his limousine, and instead walked straight past to meet Obi-Wan, who he graced with the world’s shortest handshake. Many of the students were swooning over his looks- Vader had always been handsome, and even pushing his late forties he was still strikingly attractive with his signature scar and golden hair, though now greying at the temples- while everyone else was starstruck by being in the presence of a ballet legend.

Vader had insisted on hosting private auditions, meaning everyone had to audition twice- once for Obi-Wan in the morning, and once for him in the afternoon. Whether this was because he couldn’t stand being in the same room with Obi-Wan for five minutes or because he wanted to test the dancer’s stamina, Luke wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was both.

Obi-Wan, as ever, led a calm and nurturing audition environment, with helpful feedback and positive comments. Luke noticed that Obi-Wan had barely written a sentence during his routine, which made him blush; the less Obi-Wan wrote, the more it signalled that he had nothing to critique, content to simply enjoy the performance. He left feeling that he could’ve done no more, and he was happy with what he’d accomplished. Upon seeing his small smile when he exited the room, Leia enveloped him in a bear hug.

‘See, I _knew_ you’d have it cinched,’ she said warmly, ‘now you’ve just got to repeat exactly what you did in front of Obi-Wan for Vader, and the thing’s in the bag.’

‘You say that like it’s so simple,’ Luke protested, but he couldn’t help feeling fairly confident.

As the afternoon came around, however, his confidence was depleting rather rapidly.

Though he hadn’t yet performed for the man, the whispers were already rampant throughout the building. Vader was extremely harsh, verging on cruel, and his comments had sent several of the girls running from their auditions, crying their eyes out. Luke and Leia comforted their friends, while exchanging wide-eyed looks over the tops of their heads. These were tough, hardened ballet dancers, used to constant criticism and rejection, and they didn’t crumple easily. In this business, you simply had to have a thick skin or you wouldn’t survive. It was a lesson that dancers learnt early on, which begged the question- was Vader really that monstrous to be able to reduce seasoned professionals to floods of tears in a matter of moments?

All too soon it was Luke’s turn to enter the audition room, and he took a few seconds to mentally prepare himself. He remembered his Uncle’s words the day he’d left for New York.

_Don’t let anybody tell you you’re no good, or you’re lesser than, because of where you came from._

Taking a final deep breath, he entered wearing a bright smile.

'Good afternoon,’ he said politely, ‘my name is-’

'I don’t need your name, nor do I care what it is,’ Vader said curtly. His boots were propped up on the desk in a decorously lacking display, the curtains partially drawn. The shards of sunlight highlighted the stale smoke wafting from his still-lit cigarette as he sat in half-shadow, with only the scarred side of his face visible. Luke thought he wouldn’t look too out of place in _The_ _Phantom of the Opera_ playing a few blocks away at the Majestic Theatre, and his mouth twitched at the thought.

‘Something amusing, boy?’

Vader’s voice was ice cold.

‘No, Sir.’

Luke wanted to kick himself, though that would probably make Vader think he was stupid as well as insolent.

‘Well, get on with it. Unless you plan on standing and gawping all day like the rest of your pitiful cohort.’

Luke bit down a retort- he’d become rather too good at arguing since he’d befriended Leia on his first day when he was sixteen- and gave his music to the long-suffering pianist.

Attempting to ignore Vader’s disinterested gaze, the sheer rudeness of his smoking and his overall aura of disdain, Luke waited for the introduction to finish before launching into the steps he’d spent weeks perfecting. Every step was polished, every movement precise, every cue met and marked. He overcame his trembling nerves with the professionalism and confidence he’d gained over the years, pouring every ounce of himself into his dancing.

The routine was seamless, flawless, accentuating all his best features and disguising his weakest areas. His arms and feet flowed together like water, smooth and elegant, and a smile started to bloom on his face as he glided across the floor for his first jeté. He landed in second and without a moment’s hesitation he was on relevé, tiptoeing as delicately as the first sprinklings of December snowfall until he built his movements along to the crescendo of the music, leaping into his tour l’en air feeling like he would burst, he was soaring, he was _flying-_

‘Stop.’

Luke stumbled out of his turn, wide eyes staring up at Vader.

‘I-I’m sorry?’

‘I said, stop. I have seen quite enough. Leave.’

He wasn’t even looking at Luke, instead scribbling something half-heartedly on a scrap of paper Luke supposed counted for his comment book.

‘B-but I’ve barely done the first half!’ Luke protested, ‘Please, let me finish!’

In the back of his mind, he was aware of the pitfalls that came from arguing with the most illustrious dancer of the last fifty years, one he’d up until this moment idolised to an unhealthy extent, but he didn’t care. The injustice was staggering, not to mention the rudeness. It was rare that an audition should be interrupted before the end, but absolutely unheard of for a dancer to not even finish their first movement.

Vader looked up slowly, dangerously, locking onto Luke with unblinking eyes. Luke met his gaze, despite his terror, his anxiety, his shame, and noted distantly that their eyes were a similar shade of blue.

‘Did you not understand me the first time, boy? I said _leave._ I’ve seen all I need to see.’

‘I assure you that you haven’t,’ Luke replied, not sure where this sudden bravery, or death wish, he wasn’t quite sure, had come from. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve displeased you, but please let me finish before you decide I’m no good for the part.’

If Leia had been there, she would’ve applauded.

Vader stared at him, and Luke started to wonder if he’d shocked the man out of his foul mood.

Then he started to laugh. It wasn’t a nice sound, and held no humour. Only mockery, and the promise that Luke wouldn’t like what came next.

Vader flew over the desk, sending it screeching backwards on the polished floor, laughter stopping abruptly as tension seeped into its place. He dropped his cigarette, grounding it down with his heel before prowling towards Luke. Alarmed, he staggered backwards until his back hit the mirror, but it didn’t stop Vader’s descent or the flow of his vicious words in a deceptively velvety soft voice.

‘Let me guess. You’re a charity case, probably from the middle of nowhere with no prospects or fortune. Kenobi took you in, a poor uneducated farm boy, and made you think you were something special. That you could actually have a sustained career in this business. I should know, after all. It’s his specialty to give high aspirations to mediocre students and watch them choke on their failure. Allow me to correct his mistake.’

Vader leaned in menacingly, tilting his head to the side, his handsome face deformed by anger and cruelty.

‘You are not impressive. You are not a prodigy. You are not even passable. You are merely a poor man’s pale imitation of Padmé Amidala, with little of her grace and certainly none of her raw talent. You,’ Vader closed in merely a hair’s breadth from his face, ‘are,’ he prodded Luke sharply in the chest, ‘ _nothing.’_

Luke averted his eyes to the ground, horrified to feel hot angry tears welling up.

'Do I make myself clear?’ Vader murmured, his voice almost a whisper in Luke’s ear. Luke nodded shakily, chest heaving, and edged out of Vader’s reach, all but running to the door. Screw audition protocol and basic etiquette, he needed to get out, _now_. He didn’t even stop to collect his music from the pianist before he fled, barely picking up his bag.

He didn’t stop running as he left the room far behind, down the stairs and out of the main entrance, thanking the gods that Leia was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t face her. He couldn’t face _anybody,_ not after what had just happened.

He didn’t know where he was going, or what he was going to do once he got there. He just knew he needed to be as far from Vader as possible.

* * *

Eventually he found himself in a secluded corner of Central Park. It was quiet for early evening, and nobody batted an eye at his strange attire of ballet shoes and practice clothes- they’d seen far stranger things, after all. After finding a small copse of trees, and making sure there was nobody else around, he allowed himself to dissolve into tears. He never thought he would cry in public, and certainly not over an audition, but Vader’s words had hit a raw nerve.

As he cried, he pondered the futility of his situation. He didn’t see how he could ever show his face at the company again. Vader had basically told him he was wasting his time; that he’d wasted his entire life on a foolish dream he wouldn’t ever have the talent to fulfil. That he was simply a poor facsimile of a dancer far greater and far more loved than he could ever hope to be. It was an empty, awful feeling, like someone had turned his world on its axis and lobbed it across the room for good measure.

He stayed there, sobbing his heart out, until he realised what the time was and noticed the stars dotting the sky. Leia had probably blown up his phone with a hundred missed calls by now, and Ezra would be getting worried.

Wandering idly from the park, he thought about hailing a cab to get home- then remembered how much cabs cost, and if Vader was right, he should probably save as much as he could for the moment his career inevitably fizzled out. He wended his way through the streets, walking into people absentmindedly, knowing he was a clear target for thieves with his vacant expression, but not being able to bring himself to care.

He followed his feet, not really aware of his directions, until he found himself in front of the company building. He swiped his key card on autopilot and made straight for the third-floor practice rooms, which everyone else usually avoided if they could. They were draughty and isolated from the rest of the building, which suited Luke perfectly.

When he was happy, he danced. When he was heartbroken, he danced. It was how it had always been.

The floor was deserted, all the lights in the rooms switched off, and Luke made himself at home in the cubicle right at the end.

He stared himself down in the mirror. He was small, and on the short side, with a petite build. The kids back home had always called him scrawny, and Luke supposed they had a point. His blue eyes were red and sore from crying, and his blonde hair was a sweaty tangled mess from dancing all day then tugging his hands through it during his self-pity session.

Vader wasn't wrong. He wasn’t exactly much to look at.

Turning away from the mirror in disgust, Luke began to stretch, knowing that even in the haze of his sorrow, he wouldn’t risk injuring himself. He was sure Vader would love that, and it made him all the more careful to ensure that every joint was loose and sufficiently warmed up.

He began to dance mindlessly, not following any particular choreography, just doing whatever came to mind. He hadn’t done this for a long time, not since he was a little boy. In the New York City Ballet, everything had structure, a purpose, a function. It was like a machine, and everything had to be perfectly placed and oiled in order for it to work. Choreography was much like that, and usually Luke enjoyed the orderliness.

But not tonight. Tonight, he revelled in the feeling of letting go, of abandoning all technique and letting his limbs do what they wanted.

He moved across the floor without thought, using all aspects of the space, not having to worry about blocking other dancers or watching his marks. All that mattered right then was Luke, and the music his body made in the silence of the night.

He remembered how proud Owen and Beru had been when he’d booked his first professional show, vowing they would come and see it, only they couldn’t afford the fare and Luke hadn’t yet earned enough money to pay their way.

‘ _Next time, Luke. We promise we’ll be there.’_

He spun into a pirouette, promptly fell out of it, and swore loudly.

He recalled meeting Leia, her wit and vivacity instantly drawing him in, before hearing the whispers from jealous onlookers, questioning why she’d befriended the irrelevant country boy when she could have the pick of any friends she wanted.

‘ _It must be pity- that’s the only explanation.’_

Stretching his body into an attitude, he could feel that his form was off and that his neck was too tense to properly form the graceful position.

He shook himself, running his hands through his hair yet again in irritation.

He thought of Ezra as he prepared himself for a grand jeté, wonderful, caring, funny Ezra, who had only been in his life a few months but had already made everything better simply by existing.

_‘Vader would be a fool not to love you at first sight.’_

But he’d been wrong, hadn’t he? Vader didn’t just dislike him- he _loathed_ him.

He suddenly realised that these weren’t unconscious movements at all. He was performing an approximation of Odile’s dance from Act Three, when she attempted to seduce the spellbound Prince. He was doing a very poor job indeed, his movements at best insipid and weak, at worst sloppy and amateurish.

This made him categorically furious. Even when trying to be original, to do something spontaneous, he was still living in Padmé Amidala’s shadow, flogging her ghost to an invisible audience.

Vader was right.

_you’renothingyou’renothingyou’renothingyou’renothingyou’renothingyou’renothingyou’renothingYOU’RENOTHING-_

_‘ARGHHHHHH!’_

A guttural scream burst out from somewhere deep inside Luke as he sprang into a series of frenzied steps, fuelled solely by pure primal rage.

He turned on relevé, interspersed with sautés and jetés, imagining he was the black swan. She didn’t care about anything or anyone. She had no insecurities, no weak spots, no self-doubt. She was selfish, seductive, serpent-like, ensnaring all in her path and commanding attention. She didn’t need to spend hours practising or grovel in the dirt to assholes for a second chance.

She _made_ people watch, and didn’t let them go until she was damn sure they’d fallen for her spell, wanting her affections, desiring _her_ praise instead.

She was immaculate.

Like an inferno she rippled across the stage, and Luke burned with her until their souls were entwined, their motives were one and the same, their movements in total synchronisation. He felt drunk on her power, high on her glory that he lapped up endlessly, wanting more, _needing_ more.

Without stopping to think he launched into a violent tour l’en air, miles away from the one he’d performed in front of Vader earlier. There he had been grace and elegance personified, seeking to impress; but here Luke was unleashed, uninhibited, letting his raw anger and frustration shape the movements with a power he hadn’t know he possessed.

He leapt higher than he had ever done before, certain he’d broken his personal record, propelling himself to a dizzying height before falling back down to earth on one elevated foot, spinning himself into a series of frenzied turns.

He briefly caught sight of himself in the mirror as he whirled, and had to suppress a gasp. He looked half wild, his eyes brightly crazed, his cheeks flushed with exertion.

He looked _possessed._

That didn’t stop him as he kept spinning, over and over and over, spotting the same mark again and again, watching his face become progressively more flushed and he was starting to feel dizzy but it didn’t _matter_ because he was the black swan and he wouldn’t stop for anything or anyone, not until he got what he wanted, what he _needed,_ what he _deserved-_

_Clap._

_Clap._

‘Perhaps I spoke too soon.’

Luke wheeled around, hands on his knees as he tried to recover his stolen breath, his head pounding as if he’d been underwater.

Vader leaned nonchalantly in the doorway. His arms were folded across his chest, and he looked amused. He held yet another cigarette in his hand.

‘I thought you’d run away in a sulk after your poor display earlier, never to be seen again. I’m pleased to see you have more resilience than your measly frame implies. If you dance like that when you perform the black swan, then maybe there’s some hope for you after all. Besides, it seems my opinions matter little when compared to Kenobi’s, seeing as he’s set on having you for his precious show.’

Vader surveyed Luke critically, actually bothering to look at him properly unlike earlier, inspecting every inch of him with unnerving intensity. He took a long methodical drag of his cigarette before blowing the air in Luke’s direction.

‘Congratulations, little swan. Let’s hope you don’t drown.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts, they are massively motivating, and thank you for reading! 💕
> 
> Come scream about Hayden Christensen with me on [Tumblr](https://couronnedesfleurs.tumblr.com/).


	2. En Pointe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disastrous rehearsal, an enlightening night out, and a pair of shoes reveal some long-hidden secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 03/02/21: I’ve now fixed the link where Vader dances! It really captures his brashness imo so pls check it out. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait with this chapter, I’ve had a killer migraine for a few days so couldn’t write. This is the closest thing I could find to how I imagined [Vader's coat](https://www.mrporter.com/en-gb/mens/product/fear-of-god-for-ermenegildo-zegna/clothing/winter-coats/wool-overcoat/23471478576303041?&ignoreRedirect=true&ppv=2&cm_mmc=Google-ProductSearch-UK--c-_-MRP_EN_UK_PLA-_-MRP+-+UK+-+GS+-+Clothing+-+Coats+%26+Jackets--Coats+%26+Jackets_INTL&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIyN_IwMPD7gIVdIBQBh0WKQfiEAQYAyABEgLiyPD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds) (the name is ironic and incredibly fitting lmao). 
> 
> Aside from Tchaikovsky, Black Swan by BTS also majorly inspired this fic (thanks to Lara for reminding me!!) It’s a really cool beautiful song about the pain of making art and how even fulfilling our dreams can be draining sometimes, which I think sums up Luke perfectly. If Tchaikovsky were alive, he would think it was a bop and he would 100% be an ARMY no question. Listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lapF4DQPKQ&ab_channel=BigHitLabels) and also watch this ballet-inspired orchestral performance [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bgL7juKY6Q&ab_channel=BANGTANXSaveME). 
> 
> Now the BTS promo is done, on with the story!
> 
> WARNING: TW for very brief mention of not eating/EDs. If you think this will be triggering, skip from ‘Luke bit his lip’ to ‘’That’s not a problem for me’’. Thank you.

_Congratulations, little swan. Let’s hope you don’t drown._

Vader’s words, at once a dubious show of praise and a dire warning, rang in Luke’s head as he returned his glare tenfold.

For weeks the tension had simmered beneath the surface, out of sight but clearly in mind. Obi-Wan’s presence had neutralised the situation, which was perhaps the only reason why the dancers hadn’t pulled out after Vader’s caustic audition process. As long as the company director was in the room, Vader barely said a word. It was a self-imposed silence, as he generally nodded curtly to Obi-Wan’s comments, only making suggestions using as few words as possible when it was clear he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

Even silent, however, he still managed to make his presence known. Luke felt the scrutiny of his narrowed eyes on him at all times, cataloguing every tiny error to no doubt wield against him later. Besides the physical exhaustion that came with dancing, Luke was mentally fatigued from the wordless mind games Vader played. He was a master at psychological intimidation, and Luke’s only solace was that the other dancers were finding it as draining as he was.

‘Do you think he gets off on it?’ Leia said quietly to Luke as they were finally allowed to leave for a five-minute break, guzzling down water as if it was their last meal.

‘On what?’

‘On being such a colossal dick. Glaring daggers at everyone, making passive aggressive comments when forced to speak, hovering silently like the grim fucking reaper, smoking those disgusting cigarettes even though Obi-Wan has asked him to stop _repeatedly-’_

Luke shrugged helplessly.

‘I guess he must do. It’s the only explanation. What I don’t understand is _why_ he agreed to do this, seeing as he so clearly hates us all.’

Leia raised her eyebrows.

‘Zev told me that Obi-Wan has some dirt on him- the kind that could end his career- and that’s the only reason Vader is here. To protect his reputation, he would do _anything_.’

Luke was still pondering this later, as the wardrobe mistress asked him to go and question Obi-Wan about the timing of a scene change during his costume fitting. Climbing the stairs with sore calves and blistered feet- he’d been dancing since 6am that day- he allowed his mind to fantasise about whatever Vader must have done to earn this punishment of pedagogy purgatory. Maybe he’d been involved in some kind of adulterous scandal that Obi-Wan alone knew the details of? Famously, Vader had never married or had children, but he was seen as an eligible bachelor, so this wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

Luke’s thoughts went darker as his imagination ran away with him, envisioning money laundering, mafia links, even murder. He wanted to scoff at himself but quite honestly, when he thought of the death stares Vader frequently shot Luke in rehearsals, he wouldn’t put it past the man.

Raised voices shattered his daydreams as he raised his hand to knock on Obi-Wan’s door. He pressed his ear against the wood curiously, straining to hear the conversation.

‘I don’t like it any better than you do, but nevertheless it must be done-’

‘Spare me the violins. If you’d never meddled in the first place, then we wouldn’t be in this position.’

That was Vader’s voice, tight with fury.

Obi-Wan snorted, and Luke was shocked to hear his employer lose his patience for once.

‘I’ve long since given up trying to tell you the truth; you only listen when it is something you want to hear. But whether you like it or not, Maul is _obsessed,_ and he will stop at nothing to get his revenge-’

‘I’m not scared of Maul. That rat should be cowering in the gutter at the mere mention of my name,’ Vader thundered.

‘As always, you miss the point. This is not only about your reputation, but _hers._ Did she ever matter to you at all?’

‘How _dare you_ doubt my feelings for her _-_ ’

‘In that case, we must work together to avoid further fallout and protect her name.’

There was silence, and Luke could hear shuffling inside the room.

‘I know you no longer care what I say, but I only ever wanted the best for you. Anakin would have believed me-’

‘ _You will **never** use that name again_-’

Luke recoiled in shock as Vader burst out the door, nearly bulldozing straight over him. He pinpointed Luke with a freezing stare, roughly shouldering him out of the way.

‘The only thing I hate more than spoiled brats are eavesdroppers,’ Vader snarled, whirling away in a flurry of Chanel and muttered swearing. 

Luke related the tale to Leia before their next rehearsal, and she looked as baffled as he felt.

‘I’ve never heard the name ‘Maul’ before. He’s definitely not a dancer, or at least not a well-known one…’ she trailed off thoughtfully as she leaned over into a split, ‘I’ll have to ask Han. If Maul is part of anything shady, he’s bound to know.’

Luke couldn’t help but agree. Han, Leia’s biker boyfriend and the source of Senator Organa’s constant headaches, seemed to have a suspiciously intricate knowledge of the many crime networks of New York City.

The altercation had all but escaped his mind until a few weeks later on Luke’s birthday. He’d been treated like a prince by Ezra that morning with breakfast and cuddles in bed, and it was very reluctantly that he’d dragged himself away from their cosy apartment to the company building. Upon entering the rehearsal room, he was met with a cast of anxious dancers and Vader sitting regally in Obi-Wan’s chair, one knee crossed over the other. His signature black Givenchy coat was thrown carelessly over the arm, and he held a lit cigarette in his elegant hand. He looked like an ice prince, jealously guarding his conquered throne, and Luke wished he’d stayed home.

‘Ah, Mr Lars. So kind of you to grace us with your presence.’

Luke knew he wasn’t late. He had never been late in his life; he was too disciplined for it. He also knew, however, that there was as little point arguing with Vader as there was in asking the rain to stop pouring, so said nothing and swiftly joined his co-workers.

‘Undoubtedly you will have noticed that your esteemed director is absent. He has fallen prey to the recent outbreak of flu; it seems even demigods can become afflicted by mundane trivialities just like us mere mortals-’

His voice was acerbic, oozing sarcasm and loathing, and Luke shifted uncomfortably along with the rest of the troupe. They were incredibly fond and reverent of their director, but no one had the balls to disagree with Vader to his face.

‘-Which, subsequently, leaves me in charge. As you will soon realise, my teaching methods differ vastly from Kenobi’s. He may tolerate mediocrity, but I certainly do not. Perhaps you think you are being treated unfairly, seeing as I am not the company director.’

The corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk, harshened by the scar bisecting his eyebrow.

‘Tough. As long as I am here, you will do exactly as I say. As long as my name is on that programme, you are representing me, and you will _not_ fuck it up.’

He fixed them all with his unnerving blue eyes, moving along the group in turn.

‘I do not tolerate backtalk, slacking, or carelessness. If you are late, don’t bother showing up again. Listen to my instruction, and you will be rewarded with the best performance of your lifetimes. Fail to do so, and fall into irrelevancy. I am not here to hold hands, coddle, or reassure. This is not a creche. This is a professional company, so it claims, and I will settle for no less than perfection; if you have any pride, neither should you.’

Standing suddenly, he kicked off his shoes and started to unbutton his pants. This elicited some shocked gasps, as well as a few embarrassingly eager eyes and racing pulses, but Vader was wearing ballet tights underneath. Toeing on his jet-black ballet shoes, he glanced up at them all in irritation.

‘Well, what are you waiting for? _Stretch._ Unless I have to show you how to do _that_ as well.’

And thus, scurrying to the barre and avoiding the throng of people trying not to be at the front, began the worst rehearsal of Luke’s life.

If he’d thought Vader would go easier on him after the disastrous first audition, he’d been wrong. Very wrong. Any tiny glimmer of approval in Vader’s eyes when he’d informed Luke he was playing Odette had been extinguished like a cigarette under Vader’s heel. When the time came for individual critique, the man laid into him with the savagery of a beast, so harsh and unwarranted that the rest of the dancers looked supremely uncomfortable. Even after six hours of rehearsal, he never let up, never showed any sign of leniency or even slight fatigue himself. It was as if he thrived on his callousness, his bitterness and cruelty giving him life force like an evil sorcerer in a fairy story. Luke wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to earn Vader’s particular brand of hatred, but it could not be clearer that Vader didn’t want Luke anywhere near his production, and if Obi-Wan hadn’t had his way, he would’ve kicked Luke out.

‘Your footwork in that turn is absolutely appalling. Does Kenobi teach you _anything?_ ’

‘Messy. Do that again from bar twenty-five; actually, the entire movement was nonsense. From the top.’

‘Your arms need to be in second. _Second._ Or do I need to send you back to primary ballet? _’_

Every single dancer had been harassed, bullied and taunted by Vader over the course of the rehearsal, but Leia, who had been cast as Princess Siegfrieda, was the only one who looked as close to breaking as Luke. Worriedly he watched her furious brown eyes narrow as Vader insulted their fish dive lift.

‘Frankly I’ve seen bookends that have more chemistry than you two. And you _both_ ended incorrectly, how are you supposed to follow with the pirouettes if you land like that?’

Leia opened her mouth. Terrified for the future of her career, Luke interjected.

‘We’re not doing the pirouettes in this section anymore. Obi-Wan changed it during the last rehearsal-’

‘Well, I’m changing it back. Kenobi always did have poor judgement for a pas de deux,’ Vader said carelessly.

Luke and Leia exchanged a look. Obi-Wan had been very insistent about the choreography change, saying it altered the whole pace of the movement.

‘Sir, Obi-Wan was very clear about what he wanted us to do-’

Vader swept into Luke’s personal space before he could blink.

‘Was he also clear about being an insolent brat? That is the only thing you have successfully achieved during this rehearsal, after all.’

Which brought them to this moment: Vader all razor-sharp edges and cut-throat sneers, Luke dripping with sweat and exhaustion and no small amount of fury, facing off as if on opposing sides of a battlefield.

‘But by all means. I am merely a lowly choreographer with over three hundred credits to my name and a principal dancer for the entirety of my career. I bow before your expertise and wisdom, Mr Lars.’

Vader swept into a mocking genuflect, before encroaching ever closer on Luke’s dance space.

‘Perhaps you think you could do better?’ he murmured, venomously soft, his eyes boring into Luke’s.

Luke didn’t know how to respond. Grovelling and flattery would piss Vader off, but he could hardly stand there and agree with him.

Vader clapped his hands once, loudly, sending the dancers scattering off the floor immediately, never once taking his eyes off Luke.

‘Watch and learn, amateurs. Flames of Paris, Philippe variation- from the top, Piett,’ he tossed the last carelessly at the overworked pianist.

Gliding effortlessly into his starting position, his eyes narrowed at Luke as the piano trilled alternating bass notes, rising in volume, standing in for the drums that would be playing in a standard orchestral [arrangement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OKN_kg8k8kw&ab_channel=IvanVasilyev). 

They all watched with bated breath and round eyes as the piano reached its crescendo.

Vader propelled himself into the air with textbook precision and momentum, seeming to fly for several breath-taking moments before coming back down to earth, only to immediately launch into another dazzling leap. His legs were pinpoint straight, his back forming a magnificent arch as he ascended to the heavens.

There was an unspeakable power behind the force of his movements, self-assured with the confidence of a King closing in on his ailing enemy. He hit the ground with a panther’s grace, sleek and fluid, prowling around in several half circles before springing into a sequence of pirouettes, seemingly never breaking eye contact with Luke from the strength and speed of his turns.

The music changed pace and tone, subsiding into a sparkling, pretty melody, and Vader morphed before their eyes from predator to prey. Transitioning flawlessly from a coupé jeté en tournant into a series of endless fouettés, he launched into the movement with the aplomb of a seasoned professional. His turns were swift and smooth, whipping the air into shape as if he was enticing it into a war he knew he would win.

Vader’s dancing was elusive; an ever-changing, androgynous, sentient thing. He transformed from tangible overt masculinity, to lithe sprightliness, to a feminine grace within split seconds and then back again. He’d made an art of shapeshifting, of warping into so many different personalities that you weren’t sure which was real and which was a mask. It was frightening and strange, but there was a harsh, brutal beauty to his dancing that left the audience dizzy and disorientated, hungry for more.

The music shifted back into the original minor motif, majestic and triumphant, and Vader attacked the steps with relish, bounding into two more spectacular jumps. Posture never slackening, he maintained an imposing shape as he dropped to one knee for the final pose with the other leg extended, one hand on his chest and the other raised heavenwards like the centrepiece of a Rubens masterwork.

As the last chord rang away, resounding awe-filled silence enveloped the stunned room.

The dancers looked like they wanted to applaud, but were too terrified. They cowered as Vader broke his finishing position, approaching Luke with inordinate smugness.

He’d barely been dancing a minute; but that minute had shown more power, talent and control than Luke had ever seen in real life.

He stopped in front of Luke, looking as stately and contained as ever, not even out of breath. He didn’t seem to be sweating either; the only thing that gave him away were his eyes, wild and raw and dangerous. Luke had seen the same look in his own eyes when he had danced the black swan in front of the man unknowingly.

‘What do you think about those pirouettes _now,_ Mr Lars?’ Vader said lowly, daring him to disagree.

‘We’ll leave them in,’ Luke replied quietly.

‘Excellent. I knew you’d come around.’

He spared a dismissive glance at the rest of the class, still open mouthed in shock from Vader’s display.

‘You may all leave, except Mr Lars.’

Lead lining his stomach, Luke wistfully watched Leia and the rest of his friends gratefully escape the dragon’s den. Vader circled him intimidatingly, and Luke had to cement his feet to the floor to keep from bolting.

‘I need hardly remind you that this entire performance hinges specifically on your performance. Your work at present is not good enough; therefore, you will attend private tuition with me until your dancing is up to significant standard, starting tomorrow.’

 _Happy birthday to me,_ Luke thought bitterly.

‘Yes, Sir. Is that all?’

Vader, stopping in front of Luke again, tilted his head consideringly, as if assessing whether Luke was worthy of his time.

‘No. It’s not enough to dance with technical accuracy- though there is much room for improvement in your case. I will give you a vital piece of advice that you obviously haven’t learnt from Kenobi. When you dance the black swan, you have to give me something _real._ Think of something you want, that you’d kill to have- besides this role, of course. A Rolex, a Porsche, a summer house in Barbados- I would know, I have several-’

Luke stopped listening, immediately thinking of Ezra, of his loving eyes and warm laugh, and a low-key ceremony in a registry office. Cheeks pinkening, he waved the thought away. That was far too personal to share with Vader of all people.

‘Well?’ Vader was glaring at him expectantly, and Luke blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

‘I want to dance en pointe one day.’

If Luke had said he wanted to murder Vader and dance all over his grave, he couldn’t have enraged him more. His brows drew low over eyes narrowed into snake-like slits, his nostrils flaring in fury.

‘Listen carefully, boy. You will _never_ dance en pointe. Understand?’

‘But wh-’

‘DO NOT QUESTION ME!’

Vader spun away as if burned, chest heaving, obviously trying to regain some semblance of control. Luke stared in bewilderment, at a loss to what had been so offensive, and kicking himself for not coming up with a harmless lie that Vader wouldn’t have been able to pick apart.

After what seemed like an age, he turned back to Luke, his face now a blank mask, eyes empty.

‘Believe it or not, I’m trying to save your career. Men aren’t meant to dance en pointe, and it’s a useless endeavour. You have enough to worry about trying to dance the black swan without indulging in foolish fantasies.’

His gaze hardened.

‘If I ever see you in pointe shoes, I will personally throw them out of the window. Now, tomorrow at 10am sharp I want to see Act Two, Moderato, from the top. Discounting your little fit of pique when you didn’t like my comments, I’ve yet to be convinced you aren’t made of wood.’

With that Vader left, flicking his ash on the floor, leaving Luke trembling with exhaustion and rage.

* * *

He sought refuge, as always, in the private practice rooms. He’d taken to choosing rooms at random with no pattern or thought behind it, in case Vader came looking for him again.

Sinking to the floor, he half-heartedly sat in a split to stretch his overworked muscles.

How was he ever going to survive a private rehearsal with Vader? They would not last five minutes before one tried to strangle the other.

Resisting the urge to hold his head in his hands, he felt the familiar anger coursing through him that had become synonymous with Vader’s presence, his snarky remarks and his stinging cruelty. He felt angry with Obi-Wan for being ill, which he knew was unfair and illogical. But most of all he was angry at himself, because he knew deep down that Vader was right. He could not dance the black swan; at least, not yet.

She was a challenge for Luke because she was everything he was not. She was fire, where he was water. She was spite and grudges, where he was forgiveness. She was haughty arrogance, where he was demure grace. If he could not portray her convincingly, then the whole performance would be for nothing.

The only way to bring Vader’s private lessons swiftly to a close and keep his sanity intact was to reassure the man that he _could_ dance as Odile, that he _would_ embody her as Padmé Amidala had done, to leave no room for doubt that he _was_ the black swan.

The solution was clear. He had to completely shed his skin, leave his comfort realm in the dust, and step into the black swan’s shoes.

He glanced to his dance bag in the corner, feeling their presence even though he couldn’t see them. He wasn’t quite sure what had propelled him to bring the pointe shoes to the company that day, when they had laid safely in his bottom drawer ever since he’d arrived in New York, but it had seemed right. It was a milestone; his twenty first birthday, preparing for the biggest role of his life, and he’d wanted his mother there with him in the only form she could be.

He thought of Vader’s warning, his anger, his threats if he ever found out Luke had gone en pointe.

_Fuck him._

With shaking hands, he pulled on the shoes and laced the ribbons. It took him a few tries, his fingers clumsy from inexperience. He’d been right; they now fit almost perfectly after his small adjustments.

Gripping onto the barre, taking a deep breath, he attempted to rise.

‘ARGH!’

He immediately toppled, grabbing the beam for balance. It was much harder than he’d expected, not to mention strenuous. Even though he was small for a male dancer, probably not weighing much more than Leia, it put pressure on his toes where muscles had never formed. He would have to be very patient and persistent if ever wanted to dance properly in the shoes.

Nevertheless, the very act of wearing of them was comforting, even if he couldn’t yet perform in them. It was a way of being close to his birth mother that he’d never had before.

As he tried to rise again, going more slowly this time, giving his feet time to adjust to the strange pressure and machinations, he wondered what she had been like. Had they looked similar? Had she been blonde like Luke? Or had she been dark, with long curls and hazel eyes?

What had her dancing style been like? Flowing and graceful, or energetic and sprightly?

Had it been an unplanned pregnancy, forcing her to quit the one thing she loved more than anything in the world?

Or had he been a blessing; unexpected, maybe, but welcomed nonetheless? Wanted?

He caught sight of himself in the mirror. Without realising, he was standing en pointe. His calves shook, and his abs tightened to minimise the weight on the tiny blocks, but he was standing. En. Pointe.

With a small smile, he lifted one leg up onto the barre and began to stretch his quads, feeling a lightness he had missed ever since Vader arrived.

His stretching was interrupted by a call from his Aunt and Uncle. Even on his birthday, they knew to only call in the evening when rehearsals were finishing up.

He chatted to them for a while, taking care to hide the exhaustion in his voice and to not say anything too revealing about what was going on, flexing his feet in the shoes the whole time. He didn’t want to cause them unnecessary worry, and he doubted they’d have heard of Vader even if he mentioned him.

At length he noticed the time, saying his goodbyes and preparing to make his way home to change before his birthday night out.

As he slipped off the left shoe, Luke noticed with a sickening jolt that the innersole had started to tear away at the top. He panicked, worrying he’d ruined his mother’s shoes forever. Inspecting the damage, he lifted the flap- and froze.

Two neatly written initials lay hidden underneath the sole; crisp black ink that had faded over time, but still legible and abundantly clear.

_P.N._

Time stood still as Luke stared, dumbfounded, at the precious piece of history that had so very nearly remained undiscovered.

He knew virtually nothing of his mother. Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen had always glossed over the subject whenever Luke brought it up. There were no photographs, no keepsakes, no letters. All he’d ever had of hers were the shoes, and they’d kept those quiet for the majority of his life.

He stroked over the letters with shaking fingers. The tiniest crumb, but a crumb nonetheless.

Suddenly, his birthday didn’t matter so much anymore. All that mattered was following this trail to its conclusion, and he couldn’t leave the studio fast enough, in too much of a hurry to notice the strange, heavily tattooed man hovering outside the building with a flashy camera, eyes boring into Luke’s back as he ran frantically down the sidewalk trying to hail a cab.

As soon as he got home, out of breath and flushed, he hunted down a shifty-looking Ezra in the kitchen.

‘You’re _late,_ birthday boy- _’_

Luke wiggled out of the hug, completely oblivious to the aftermath of a culinary battle on the counter and instead brandishing the shoes like a weapon.

‘Look, _look!_ It was an accident but I found this in the shoe, I _know her initials, maybe I can find her-!’_

‘Woah, calm down!’ Ezra exclaimed, giving the shoes a glance before returning his worried gaze to Luke, ‘you need to _breathe_ , Luke.’

He placed steadying hands on Luke’s shoulders and Luke took in a few gulps of air around his enormous grin, annoyed that something so tedious was interrupting the greatest discovery of his life.

‘Okay I’m breathing now but Ezra, I’m serious, _look at them-!’_

Still looking concerned, Ezra finally took the shoes from him and looked at the initials. Luke’s face fell slightly as Ezra didn’t seem the slightest bit happy. Instead, his worried expression deepened.

‘This is great news Luke, really. I’m happy for you.’

Luke snorted.

‘You don’t sound it. This is my _mother,_ Ezra! I’ll finally know what happened to her, if she’s still alive! My whole life I’ve wanted to know about her, to understand what happened, and this is the key!’

‘I know, and I understand. Honestly, I do.’

He gently laid the shoes back into Luke’s bag and led them into the living room, where they sat down amidst a pile of unopened birthday cards and presents that Luke couldn’t care less about at that moment.

‘You seem upset,’ Luke said accusingly, trying not to let the devastation show on his face. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected or hoped for.

‘I’m not, Luke. I just…’

Ezra sighed, running his hands through his hair.

‘You have so much on your plate at the moment. This main role, your place in the company, Vader-’

‘ _Please_ don’t ruin this by mentioning him,’ Luke groaned, stuffing his face into a pillow dramatically, ‘he’d have a fit if he knew I’d been wearing these shoes-’

‘But my point is, it’s a lot. I know you’re strong, Luke, but one person can only take so much. I don’t want this to derail all the hard work you’ve put in.’

Luke’s heart swelled with simultaneous indignance and pride at his boyfriend’s thoughtfulness.

‘It’s my _mother,_ Ezra. How bad could it possibly be?’

Ezra chewed over his words for a few minutes, not wanting to upset Luke, before biting the bullet.

‘I just think it speaks volumes that your Aunt and Uncle never mentioned her. They only have your best interests at heart; what if they did it to protect you?’

‘But then _why_ give me the shoes in the first place? They gave them to me because they knew I was ready to handle the truth, whatever it turned out to be. I know they’d be happy that I found her.’

But even as Luke said it, he wasn’t convinced. From Ezra’s expression, neither was he.

‘It’s completely up to you, Luke, and you know I’ll support you whatever you choose to do. But please consider waiting until after _Swan Lake_. You’ll have time and privacy to process whatever you find out, and it won’t affect your performance.’

How could he wait until after the performance? That was simply too far away, and Luke’s burning curiosity would not last that long. But Ezra undoubtedly had a point. If he screwed up his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because of whatever came to light, he would be letting himself and his co-workers down, not to mention giving Vader legitimate bullying material.

‘I’m not trying to be a killjoy, or to rain on your parade. I _want_ you to find closure, of course I do. You deserve to know your mother. I’m just not sure now is the right time-’

He interrupted Ezra by giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

‘You’re right, of course. I’ll wait until afterwards, but not a moment longer.’

Ezra grinned, his face finally clearing, and lifted Luke’s jaw up to meet his.

‘That’s my boy.’

They fell back on the sofa, Ezra leaning over Luke and kissing the life out of him, only for him to pull away abruptly much to Luke’s annoyance. But Ezra’s expression, so serious and his eyes so intently blue, rendered Luke’s complaints breathlessly silent.

‘Listen, there’s something I need to ask you-’

It was at that moment that an enormous speck of flour fell from Ezra’s hair onto the sofa. Luke stopped dead, eyes wide.

‘You didn’t…’

Ezra flushed sheepishly.

‘We agreed after last year’s disaster that you are allowed to make anything in the kitchen, _apart from cake!_ I still haven’t got the stains out of the splashback yet!’ Luke cried.

‘Leia was too busy and Han is even more hopeless than I am, so what was I supposed to do!’ Ezra retorted, cursing the timing. He’d been trying to work up the courage for so long, and he’d been _so close-_

Luke darted out from under him and into the kitchen with the strength and agility only a dancer could possess, leaving Ezra stumbling after him.

‘No, WAIT, Luke it’s a surprise-!’

‘Oh, _Ezra_ …’

Luke looked at him over his shoulder, eyes filling with tears, and Ezra relaxed as he flung his arms around him. Ezra was no cake designer, he was not even a competent artist, but he had _tried._

On top of a snow-white cake, underneath Luke’s shakily piped name, were a pair of painstakingly iced pink ballet shoes complete with small flowers.

* * *

Luke wasn’t sure which bar they were in now, or even which part of the city they’d taken the latest cab to. His memory had started to fail him about ten shots ago. What he did know for sure was that he was having the time of his life.

After a very intense and passionate make-out session with Ezra, they’d hastily changed into new clothes (and scrubbed the flour from Ezra’s hair) before meeting Han and Leia for pre-drinks, which had swiftly descended into the beginning of their fateful all-nighter.

‘And then Luke said, ‘Obi-Wan was clear about what he wanted us to do, you **asshole** ’, like a total fucking b-badass!’ Leia slurred, beaming at the birthday boy.

‘That’s not _quite_ how it went down,’ Luke argued feebly, wondering why his shot glass had decided to grow three heads, while Han snickered.

‘I bet His Highness loved you for that, Luke.’

‘He can’t get enough of him! He’s making Luke have private tuition with him, starting tomorrow!’ Leia revealed to the background sound of Luke groaning in dismay. He decided not to drink anymore; he was already wasted, and the reminder that Vader would expect him not only walking in a straight line but dancing the black swan in less than eight hours sobered him up pretty quickly.

‘You didn’t tell me that, Luke,’ Ezra said in alarm, lifting his pint glass again like he was set on a loop pedal, ‘will you be okay?’

Han slapped him on the shoulders, so hard that Ezra almost spat out his drink.

‘The kid will be fine. We’re dating _ballet dancers,_ Bridger. They move on their fucking tiptoes for a living and make it look easy, I think they can take care of themselves.’

‘Amen to that,’ Luke said, toasting Leia for the nth time as the conversation swung round to Han’s latest dubious business ventures.

‘Don’t go talking about any of this around my dad, or he’ll seriously lose his shit,’ Leia warned an indignant looking Han, ‘he’ll take any excuse he can get to throw you in jail.’

‘True star-crossed lovers,’ Ezra declared tipsily, ‘you against the rest of the world, together against the cruel odds, living on borrowed time-’

‘It’ll be _you_ living on borrowed time if you don’t quit that talk,’ Han growled, only half-joking.

‘So what exactly is it you’re doing now, Han?’ Luke said interestedly, and Han’s eyes glittered.

‘Glad you asked, kid. I’m currently on a job helping out an old friend of mine, Jabba. He ain’t handsome, but it sure pays so-’

‘Jabba? As in one of the Hutt family?’ Leia hissed, scandalised.

‘The very same-’

‘But they’re fucking _mafia_ , Han!’

‘It’s only rumours, babe. Besides, it’s New York, who _isn’t_ dodgy in some way?’ Han laughed, leaning back lazily in their booth.

‘There’s a difference between dodgy and murdering people for a living,’ Leia said stiffly, ‘I need more alcohol to continue this conversation. Bridger, it’s your round.’

She hauled Luke’s boyfriend up to the bar, and Luke considered saving him for a moment, before deciding not to. Ezra knew what he was getting into by dating Luke when he had first met Leia on the job.

‘But I’m telling you, kid, this Jabba guy? He’s _insane_ , has his fat fingers in every pie in New York City, if you catch my drift. There’s nothing he can’t find out. If you need information, you go to Jabba. If you wanna find someone who don’t wanna be found? Jabba’s your man.’

Luke’s foggy mind lit up in excitement, completely ignoring the promise he’d made to Ezra earlier and the red flags that his rational brain was attempting to flourish through the haze of alcohol.

‘Han, can I have this guy’s number? It’s important. But please keep it between us- I don’t want Leia or Ezra to know.’

Han looked scandalised for a split second, before his expression morphed into mischievousness that, had Luke been sober, would have been setting off piercing alarm bells.

‘What’s this?? Golden boy Luke Lars wanting to dig up some dirt on someone? Should I be concerned, kid?’

His eyes darted left and right before leaning in.

‘You can trust me, y’know. I won’t tell a soul.’

Luke almost blurted it out, but reigned himself in at the last moment.

‘Not dirt, exactly… just information. Facts, names, dates, that sort of thing. Nothing shady.’

‘Then he’s your guy for sure. But I’ll warn you; he doesn’t come cheap.’

Luke bit his lip, thinking of the extortionate New York rent he and Ezra paid for their tiny flat, not to mention the utility bills.

But there was no option. If he really got stuck, he could just go without food for a few days. He’d done it before when times were hard, and no one had ever realised. He was small anyway, and it wasn’t unheard of for dancers to fast when important performances came around. Of course, it would be harder to get around Ezra, who seemed to have a supernatural instinct whenever Luke was neglecting himself; but this was his _mother._

‘That’s not a problem for me,’ Luke said mildly, handing over his phone to Han, ‘this is too important to pass up.’

‘Whatever you say, Luke, but as your friend, I gotta warn you: be careful. Don’t tell Jabba your name. Hell, make one up if he asks. Give him as little information about you as possible, and whatever you do, _don’t_ go telling him you have a high-profile job. Jabba likes to know things like that.’

‘What for?’

‘For leverage.’

Luke’s eyes widened, but Han was already passing his phone back.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of sending a message on your behalf- Jabba’ll cut you a better deal if he knows you’re a friend of mine,’ Han bragged, downing another shot as Leia returned without Ezra.

‘Luke, you’d better go collect your man, he’s gone a bit liquor-happy,’ Leia declared, setting down a tray shaking under the weight of more drinks before pulling Han into an enthusiastic kiss, who it seemed was momentarily forgiven for his illicit activities.

Wishing the room would stop spinning, Luke made his way over to the bar, where he could tell from the bemused patrons that Ezra was making a fool of himself. When he caught sight of Luke, his face immediately brightened.

‘Hey babe! I was just telling my friends here I can d-dance. Watch this!’

Ezra wheeled around in a vague approximation of a spin, before stumbling into the bar and falling flat on his ass.

‘Margot Fonteyn you are not, though far be it from me to discourage your greatness,’ Luke said dryly while pulling Ezra up from the floor and dragging him away from the bar, earning a poke in the ribs.

‘I don’t need to be Margaret Fountain when you can d-do it for me!’ Ezra hiccupped, nearly walking into a wall as Luke sputtered with laughter.

‘I should have known you were only dating me in order to vicariously live out your secret dancing ambitions,’ Luke said in mock outrage, steering his tipsy boyfriend away from an unsmiling bouncer.

‘That, and also ‘cause I love you,’ Ezra said simply.

Luke froze.

‘I know you’re drunk, but you still can’t say things like that without warning.’

‘But then I would’ve lost the e… the elephant… no that’s not right, the e- the el… the ELEMENT of surprise!’

They were starting to attract attention now, and Luke hastily pulled Ezra back to their booth.

‘I know; what I meant was, you shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.’

‘Who says I don’t mean it?!’ Ezra said, scandalised, ‘I’m serious! It’s your birthday, Vader hates you, and I love you. These are all ca- cataclys… catastroph… _categorically_ true!’

He spun around, whirling his hands around enthusiastically in demonstration, and accidentally backhanded another bouncer directly in the face.

Luke could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse Vader just before they were all hauled out onto the pavement, shrouded in shadow as was his specialty, sitting right at the end of the bar with his face turned away.

But as they piled into two cabs and somehow got home in one piece, the thought vanished from his mind as soon as his head gratefully hit the pillow. 

* * *

The next morning was…rough.

Luke cursed the name of anyone who’d invented alcohol as he staggered into yesterday’s clothes, out of the apartment and into a garish cab. Were they _always_ that revolting shade of yellow? It made him want to pluck his eyeballs out.

He wasn’t quite sure how he made it up the stairs and to the practise room with a minute to spare, but miraculously he’d managed it.

Whether he would be able to dance, however, was another question.

He was very grateful that Vader seemed to be late; firstly because it meant he couldn’t preach about punctuality ever again, and secondly because it gave him time to splash his face with copious amounts of cold water until he felt somewhat normal.

As the hours passed, however, he resigned himself to the fact that Vader wasn’t coming. This annoyed Luke, when he thought of the long morning lay in he could’ve been having with Ezra at that moment; but his annoyance turned to joy when he remembered he still had the pointe shoes in his bag. This was an ideal time to practice, and any time he could dance without the dragon breathing down his neck was a welcome reprieve.

Feeling much more awake and alert than he’d been all morning, Luke pulled on the shoes, making a mental note to buy some tape and gel squares for his feet. He’d watched Leia do this countless times before going en pointe, and it meant that she could essentially form a second skin around her big toe, enabling her to stay upright for longer.

Leisurely he did some barre exercises, flat footed at first then rising when he felt brave enough, eventually working up the courage to lift one leg up onto the bar for his pliés. He smiled at himself despite his tousled appearance. Perhaps if he worked hard today, he could build up to letting go of the barre and trying some free exercises, perhaps even a jump…

The door swung open with a loud bang, and Vader stumbled in. Luke tried not to gawp, but it was impossible. He was far from his usual polished and perfect self; in fact, he looked like he’d spent the night in a hedge. His hair stuck up wildly and his eyes were hazy and bloodshot. His designer coat was hanging off his shoulders, showcasing the fact that his waistcoat was inside out, and a garish tie that didn’t look like it belonged to him hung limply around his neck.

For a moment they stared at each other; Vader inebriated and over two hours late, Luke nursing a hangover and en pointe despite Vader’s express orders to not ever be.

Luke’s heart beat furiously, wondering who would be the first to break the silence. Part of him didn’t dare to speak, while the other demanded to know why Vader had arrived in such a state to a rehearsal that _he_ had arranged.

Vader’s gaze swept down Luke’s form, no doubt noticing that Luke was in the same clothes he’d worn the previous day, before resting on his shoes. His eyes bulged.

‘Wh- where…’

It took him a few moments for his sluggish mind to form a slurred sentence. Luke wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

‘Where did you get those s-shoes?’

Luke said nothing, belatedly returning his feet to the floor as if this would magically erase the fact Vader had seen him en pointe.

‘ _Answer me, b-boy!’_

Even drunk, Vader was terrifying in his demand.

‘They were my mother’s,’ Luke squeaked, taking a step back. He didn’t care what Vader said or did; he would protect these shoes with his life, and if Vader threw them out of the window Luke swore he would throw him out straight afterwards, career be damned.

‘Your m-mother’s.’

Vader stared at him in what could only be described as complete devastation, and for the first time Luke felt concerned for the man’s health. Had he finally lost it?

‘Yes. I never knew her, but she left them for me.’

He quickly toed the shoes off, determined to hide them away in his bag as they had offended Vader so much. But the shots were still alive and kicking in his system, and he wobbled as he did so, grabbing onto the barre to stay upright.

‘Y-you’ve been drinking,’ Vader accused, with no hint of irony. Luke blushed, even though Vader was the one who smelt like a brewery.

‘It was my birthday last night, and I allowed myself to indulge. It was unprofessional, and will not be repeated.’

He braced himself, ready for Vader to lay into him. But when he raised his eyes, Vader was staring at him in bewilderment, as if he’d started spouting a different language.

‘It was…. your birthday.’

_Yes. That thing where you go out and have fun with your friends, except you probably don’t have any-_

‘Yes. I was twenty-one yesterday.’

Vader’s face, albeit normally pale, turned ghost white.

‘Twenty-one. You turned twenty-one yesterday.’

‘Yes…?’

Vader staggered backwards, and Luke’s eyes widened in alarm. Shit, what if the man had alcohol poisoning or something and dropped dead in the practice room? The media would have a _field day,_ and Luke’s career would never recover.

‘Excuse me. I will be back m-momentarily.’

Vader fled the room, much like Luke had escaped his presence weeks before after the abysmal audition. Luke gaped after him, and waited until the end of their allocated practise session for Vader to reappear, the pointe shoes hidden safely out of sight.

He never showed.

* * *

He’d always despised Luke Lars, Vader reflected, as he regurgitated a night’s worth of bad decisions into the second-floor bathroom toilet.

But only now did he understand _why._

For reasons even Vader couldn’t articulate, he’d hated the boy on sight. Maybe it was the surname that reminded him of his estranged step-brother, or maybe it was the innocence of his expression that evoked painful memories of being young and idealistic with his whole life ahead of him.

More accurately, it was probably the way he was exactly like Padmé.

He remembered the inexplicable rage that had swept over him as he watched the boy dance, so fluently and gracefully like she once had, with the lightness of a thousand feathers.

Despite his countless flaws, he’d never considered himself a liar, but most of the things he’d hurled at the boy were simply untrue. He was a remarkable dancer for his age, with a rare strength and beauty to his movements that Vader hadn’t seen in a long time. What hadn’t been an exaggeration, however, was that the boy needed help dancing the black swan. He was just too poised, too pure, too perfect; but even in his struggles, he still managed to taunt Vader mercilessly. He was the mirror image of another dancer, a beautiful dancer, who’d nevertheless had to confront her own demons when it had been her turn to dance the black swan. Padmé had had to channel a completely side of her personality, one even Vader had never witnessed to before, in order to bring the part to life, and she had achieved it with such success that Vader knew he would never watch another performance like it. If he hadn’t already been madly in love with her, he would have fallen at that moment, watching hungrily from the wings like a man bewitched.

And now, seeing her son wearing her shoes, it all made sense. The small stature, the way he carried himself on the precipitous borderline between humble confidence and brash arrogance, the regality to his face and movements. The timeline fit perfectly, horrifically, too synced to be a coincidence. Even his voice, soft and musical yet commanding and self-assured, was so much like Padmé’s- especially when standing up to Vader, who had gone out of his way to make his life hell.

Something like shame burrowed into his consciousness, inescapable and consuming.

The boy was clearly in the dark. Vader already knew from the briefest of glances over Luke’s file that he was adopted, that there was no information on his birth parents. Somehow, despite her fame, Luke didn’t know the identity of his birth mother, and Vader would not tell him; not until _Swan Lake_ was over. He’d already placed a heavy burden on Luke’s shoulders, and the pressure of his mother’s legacy on top of that would be too much for even the strongest shoulders to bear.

Part of him wondered with morbid curiosity who had fathered the boy. Palpatine would’ve had him believe it to be Kenobi, and of course he had blindly believed this until it had been too late to rectify his errors, to beg her forgiveness.

Even now, with the hard-won wisdom he’d so miserably lacked in his youth, there was still a tiny childish part that roiled in jealousy and paranoia. What if the boy _was_ Kenobi’s?

But it could not be so. For one, Padmé had vehemently denied ever feeling anything for him except the deepest friendship, and although he hadn’t at the time- _stupid, foolish, thoughtless bastard-_ he had no choice but to believe her now, indebted to her ghost as he was. The boy’s proclivities for pointe work signalled to Kenobi like an emergency warning, seeing as he’d been Vader’s greatest rival for the skill. It had been the root of the mindless feud that sparked the enmity between them, unknowingly sowing the seeds for Palpatine to breed his harvest of deception. But despite his numerous issues with Kenobi, the man had made no secret of his sisterly affection for Padmé which burned brightly even today, twenty-one years after her death. The boy did not resemble Kenobi in any way. He clearly took the majority of his genes from his mother. There was also the inescapable fact that if Luke Lars was Kenobi’s child, he would under no circumstances entrust him to Vader’s care, flu or not. This meant that somehow Kenobi was also ignorant of Luke’s true parentage. Vader found it hard to believe that Kenobi would knowingly leave Vader alone in the same room as Padmé’s son. After what had happened to her, he would never let Vader anywhere near the precious surviving remnant of his dearest friend, and Vader couldn’t say he blamed him.

Nobody else came to mind. They’d been involved for so long, albeit secretly, that Vader had never worried about any competition; except, in his arrogance, when he’d been manipulated to suspect Kenobi. It must have been a secret liaison, one that Vader had long since lost the right to know about. Rather than the inane envy he’d expected, he just felt hollow. Padmé had always deserved better than him, but it seemed she had been let down yet again. The man, whoever he was, had abandoned his child.

Breathing heavily, he reflected with a growing feeling of excitement. This mystery man’s loss was his own gain, his trash was Vader’s treasure, the gaping hole he’d left in Luke’s life was ripe for Vader to slide neatly into as if he was always meant to be there.

He’d made irrevocable mistakes. His entire life was built on a growing series of lies and stubbornness that eventually engulfed any chance of happiness he could’ve had. It was too late for him and Padmé; but in the case of her son, there was still time to make things right.

The way he’d treated the boy was regretful, but he would make amends. He would make it his sole duty to further Luke’s career, to guide him and nurture his talent, to keep him safe from scandal and those that would wish him harm. Whether the boy liked it or not, Vader was now his greatest ally, and he would be like a father to him. Nothing else mattered; none of his cars or houses or yachts. His new objective was Luke, and he would protect him fiercely with all the fame, influence and prestige he wielded.

In a roundabout way, the family he’d always wanted with Padmé would be complete. 

He looked in the mirror, filled with self-loathing as he watched his eyes glimmer with the tiniest flickering of hope. A washed-up star, a spiteful old man, an inebriated fool who had unwittingly engaged in a targeted slander campaign against the only child of his greatest love.

‘I will do right by him, Padmé. I promise you.’

And for the first time in what felt like forever, something in his decaying soul was roused, a new lease of life breathed into the dusty dank corners of his heart.

_Luke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vader: DO THE FUCKING PIROUETTES
> 
> Luke: Only if I can go en pointe tho 😉🥺👉👈
> 
> Disclaimer- I’ve never been drunk so I can’t write drunk people. Also, my sincerest apologies to Margot Fonteyn. 
> 
> Leave a comment to let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading! 💕
> 
> Come scream about SW with me on [Tumblr](https://couronnedesfleurs.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleurscouronne).


	3. Tombé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke inches closer to the truth, but perhaps gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I could finish this fic in 4 chapters but, erm, no. So hopefully you’re happy to stick around for a little while longer! Just a heads up, the next update will likely take a while because life is crazy busy rn. Sorry if this one's a bit of a mess, but I tried. 
> 
> Some background Swan Lake music for this chapter: [Act 1:2 Tempo Di Valse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OI4V07OXQvY&ab_channel=JordanSommer) and [Act 3 Danse Espagnole](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCEo3YAgZe8&ab_channel=imusiciki).
> 
> Also the underrated musical masterpiece that is [Lie by BTS Jimin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WoJfrm4rMp4&ab_channel=aftaehyung) sums up Luke's emotions really well in this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Luke entered the group rehearsal the next day with a feeling of utter dread. What if Vader reported Luke to Obi-Wan for being en pointe when he should have been working on the black swan? Or worse- what if he told him Luke had been hungover at work?

Either way, he’d given Vader multiple reasons to have him kicked out, and had played right into his hands. Luke wasn’t sure if he was angrier at Vader, or at himself.

The room was strangely hushed as the dancers warmed up, waiting for Vader to make an appearance. There were growing rumours that Vader had paid to have Obi-Wan ‘taken care of’, or even more outlandishly, had used some form of dark magic to remove the man from his path, and this had bathed him in an even more frightening light than before. Luke could easily believe both, especially when he thought of Vader’s supernaturally good dancing even pushing middle age, and the way his eyes had smouldered in the dim half-light of the audition room. Maybe the second option was more likely…

‘Luke? You’re shaking,’ Leia said concernedly before Luke shrugged out of her hold.

‘I’m fine,’ he muttered, eyeing the door as if Vader would spring from the depths of hell to banish him at any moment.

‘You don’t _look_ fine-’

‘Honestly, I’m good. Great. Marvellous.’

She shot him a withering look. 

‘Cut the bullshit, you sound like Han. I _know_ it’s to do with that rehearsal you had with Vader, and I don’t see why you can’t just _tell_ me what happened-!’

Luke was saved from further interrogation by Vader’s entrance, mere seconds away from being declared officially late- not that anyone would have had the courage to tell him this.

He looked impeccable, perfectly groomed and freshly coiffed, not a hair out of place; a completely different man to the one Luke had encountered the previous day. His face was neutral, composed and calm. In other words, _not_ the face of someone smugly holding a notice letter for his most despised pupil.

For one fleeting, wonderful second, Luke dared to hope that Vader had been so drunk himself, that he’d miraculously forgotten the events of yesterday.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Vader shrugged out of his coat that was probably worth more than Luke’s life, and lit a cigarette that would take his own prematurely. It was a curious thing; why such a prodigy, a star performer, a born athlete, would willingly wreck their body and ruin what was otherwise an exceptional example of peak physical fitness.

This had clearly not escaped general notice. A group of girls, part of the swan quartet, were silently giggling as they pretended to stretch at the barre while outwardly ogling him. It seemed that even his formidable display at the last rehearsal hadn’t been enough to quash the amorous flames of idolisation.

As if sensing Luke’s stare, the man spun around and caught him right in the act. Vader’s eyes clamped onto him, dragging his hopes down to the pit of his stomach like a waylaid anchor as he approached Luke with singular purpose.

Luke held his gaze bravely, though feeling inwardly like he was ascending a scaffold as Vader stopped in front of him.

There was a brief, momentous silence.

‘I apologise for my conduct yesterday, Mr Lars,’ Vader said evenly, as if discussing the weather, ‘I found myself quite unwell. It was, as you so eloquently put it, unprofessional. It will not be a repeated occurrence.’

Luke’s cheeks reddened as Leia gasped unsubtly. Several other dancers were shamelessly listening in on the conversation with astonished expressions. He could only imagine the picture his own face made at that moment.

‘I… I-’

‘I hope it will not discourage you from attending our next private after this rehearsal.’

There was a thinly disguised warning there, a gleam in those blue eyes that told Luke he was still dealing with a bomb that could detonate at any moment.

‘…Not at all, Sir.’

‘Excellent.’

Vader seemed to consider the matter closed as he abruptly turned away, announcing loudly to the class that their stretching time was over.

Luke resolutely ignored Leia’s stare, still reeling from shock himself as they took their first positions. He could hardly believe he wasn’t fired, let alone that Vader had apologised. He half-wondered whether he should pinch himself, but Leia’s reaction, as well as the suspicious glances from the other dancers, proved he wasn’t dreaming.

A horrible thought struck him as he positioned himself behind Leia for their first lift. What if this was all a trap to incriminate Luke even further? The treacherous calm before the inevitable storm?

He sleepwalked his way through the rest of the rehearsal, uncharacteristically jittery and clumsy, stumbling through steps he’d usually be able to do standing on his head. Vader never once called him out on it, which only heightened his nerves. He never thought he’d be inviting Vader’s breathtakingly harsh critique, but at least it was a known quantity. As it was, he was hurtling into a no man’s land at breakneck speed with no safety net, and the resentful muttering from the other dancers was not helping matters. Vader may have laid off him for some sinister reason, but he obviously had no problem criticising everyone else for miniscule errors.

The majority of the class seemed to reach the consensus that this was somehow all Luke’s fault, and he felt daggers digging into his back as everyone left at the end of rehearsal. He couldn’t even bring himself to say bye to Leia, knowing the look on her face would be one of total ‘ _what-the-fuck’-_ ery after the strange rehearsal, and he didn’t know how to convey through facial expression alone that he was none the wiser.

As Vader approached him, he wished he could get away with avoiding his gaze in the same way.

‘You were distracted today, Mr Lars.’

Luke had to suppress a laugh. ‘Distracted’ was a kind way of putting it, if Vader even had the capacity for kindness. He’d been a complete disaster.

‘I trust you are not letting personal matters distract you from your work. Issues with a girlfriend, or a boyfriend perhaps-’

‘No! Ezra is-’

‘Ezra?’

_Shit._

‘H-he’s my roommate, Sir. Just a friend. There are no distractions,’ Luke said determinedly, covering his blunder.

‘Good, because there is much work to be done. Piett, Allegro Act 3 from the middle movement.’

Luke’s panicked expression only grew.

‘Sir? Shouldn’t we start with Odette’s opening sequence?’

‘There is no point. There is nothing further I can teach you regarding the white swan. You embody her perfectly.’

Luke’s eyes bugged out of his head.

Had that been… _praise?_

Something perilously close to a smile flitted across Vader’s face, so quickly Luke almost missed it.

‘Yes. You might well be surprised. But we both know the white swan comes naturally to you; it seems something of Padmé Amidala’s soul lives on through you after all. The black swan is where you must focus all of your attention from now on.’

And with that, Vader nonchalantly took his seat as if he hadn’t just upturned Luke’s entire world.

Trying to pick his jaw up off the floor, Luke hurriedly took his first position, hoping he didn’t look as gormless as he felt.

Throughout the next two hours Luke kept waiting for the blade to fall as it undoubtedly would, spine stiff and taut with the tension that came from working with such a changeable instructor. With every second that passed, every piece of bizarrely helpful and constructive advice that Vader offered, Luke became more and more on edge. Surely Vader would turn at any moment, a malevolent smirk on his face as he laughed at Luke for being such a gullible idiot, before issuing him his notice.

But the axe never swung. It hovered precariously over Luke’s head as he leapt and pirouetted, feeling the entire time like he was dancing on a knife’s edge.

By the end of the rehearsal he was sweating buckets, pale and clammy with stress and exhaustion. Vader, however, only seemed to see progress.

‘You’ve worked well tonight; see that this continues into tomorrow’s rehearsal. I’m sure Miss Organa was worried you would drop her today, and I would not envy you her wrath if you did so.’

Luke was now very seriously starting to consider that he’d accidentally wandered into an alternate dimension- or at the very least hit his head, and was now stuck in a strange coma that distorted reality. There could be no other possible explanation for Vader’s attempt at humour.

‘Oh, and one more thing.’

Here it came. The judgement day, the unveiled ruse, the peak of Vader’s joke of which Luke was sure he was the punchline.

‘Now is not the time to be experimenting en pointe. I will not report you, and I will not take the shoes away from you-’

There was a deep sadness etched in his brow that Luke couldn’t fathom.

‘-But you must not practise in them any longer. You don’t have proper training and it’s highly unsafe, not to mention distracting from your main goal. I don’t want to see those shoes in this studio again. Is that clear?’

Luke nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak.

‘Very well. As for the mutual drunkenness, I think it would be in both our best interests to say nothing further on the subject.’

The corner of his mouth quirked very slightly.

’Same time tomorrow, Mr Lars.’

Vader left, not before fixing him with a lingering stare so intense and disquietingly ambiguous that Luke outwardly breathed a sigh of relief when he’d gone.

He exchanged a weak smile with Piett, the only other front-row observer to Vader’s one-man emotional circus, before gathering his things and wandering down the stairs.

‘Out with it, Lars! _’_

He almost dropped his bag as Leia ambushed him, the offending shoes burning a hole at the bottom.

‘Leia? What… what are you still doing here?’

‘What does it look like? You’re acting weirdly, you won’t tell me what’s going on, and you’ll pretend like your phone is broken again to get out of replying to my messages, so I had no other choice!’ 

‘Well _technically_ you could just stop being nosy and get on with your own life as everyone else seems to be able to do,’ Luke retorted, earning a swat.

‘You’re lucky you have best friend privileges,’ Leia said mock-seriously as she looped her arm through his. They made their way down the stairs, Leia needling at Luke until he finally came clean and told her the events of their private rehearsals.

‘Vader arriving drunk?! No, hang on- Vader arriving _late?!!_ You’re making this up,’ she said in disbelief as Luke rolled his eyes.

‘You wouldn’t stop bothering me until you got the truth, and now you don’t like it! Take it or leave it, but that’s what happened-’

‘And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you found your mother’s initials! This is _huge,_ Luke! You could potentially try and find out who she was, hire someone to look into it-’

‘I… kind of already have?’ Luke admitted sheepishly.

‘What?? When? Where? _How??’_

Luke said nothing, but watched Leia’s expression change as she put together the timeline in a matter of seconds, perceptive as ever.

‘I’m going to _murder_ Han-’ she seethed.

‘No! You can’t, because Ezra will ask questions, and then he’ll know I went behind his back!’

‘Who says _I_ won’t tell Ezra?’ she threatened.

‘You wouldn’t _dare-’_

‘Watch me! It serves you right for being so secretive. He’s your _boyfriend_ Luke, you’re supposed to trust him with things like this-’

‘I was drunk! Okay?! And it’s none of his business, or yours! I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’ve always known who you are, where you came from. All I have are these shoes and endless unanswered questions, and I’m sick of being a nobody!’ Luke burst out as they exited the building.

Leia flushed, looking uncharacteristically abashed.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t tell him. But _why_ did you have to go to a _Hutt,_ of all people, when you could have come to _me?!_ My father would do anything to help you, and he would have made some enquiries for you if you’d asked him-’

Luke was embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t thought of that in his shot-induced state, and waved her off.

‘It was a spur of the moment decision. I’m not proud of it, but it’s done now. I haven’t heard any more from Jabba. He might not even find anything, so it’s not worth arguing over,’ he said stiffly, wanting to bring an end to the topic.

‘Luke… even if he doesn’t find anything, you know it doesn’t make a difference, right? You will _never_ be a nobody. You could never be a nobody, even if you tried. You’re _Luke Lars,_ and you’re exceptional. Nothing can change that, not even your mother,’ Leia said softly.

Although he was still slightly angry at her, Luke thawed at her words.

‘Thanks, Leia. That means a l- wait, what’s wrong?’

Her expression had turned to ice as she slowed down, tugging urgently at his arm.

‘There. Do you see him? Skulking in the shadows with his camera.’

Peering in the late evening light, Luke could just about make out a man on the sidewalk opposite, dressed all in black. Apart from the strange swirling tattoos which seemed to cover almost every inch of him, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about his appearance. If Leia hadn’t pointed him out, Luke wouldn’t have given him a second thought.

‘What about him? Is he someone you know?’

She huffed.

‘Not likely. He’s been hanging around the company for weeks now, ever since Vader arrived. He’s there virtually all the time. I don’t know how he hasn’t been clocked by security yet.’

The man obviously realised he’d been spotted, as he quickly retracted his camera lenses and carried on walking, disappearing around the corner.

‘Lots of news stations have been trying to get exclusive interviews with Vader,’ Luke pointed out, ‘but of course he turned them all down. He’s probably just a lone paparazzi trying to get lucky.’

Leia shook her head, still looking worried.

‘No. If he’s just a regular paparazzi, why’s he still hanging around here when the company is supposed to be shut, when everyone has long since gone home? I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something… _off_ about him.’

‘You can bring it up with Obi-Wan when he’s back,’ Luke reassured as they strolled down the sidewalk together, ‘but I’m sure it’s nothing. And anyway, Vader is more than capable of taking care of himself.’

All the same, he glanced back over his shoulder as Leia suggested they drop by their favourite café for a caffeine and carbs fix, just in time to watch the man retrace his steps back around the corner and fixate on the company building once again.

* * *

Things only became stranger as the weeks passed. Vader continued to be a harsh taskmaster in group rehearsals, who seemed to only reserve rare praise for Luke and very occasionally Leia, but in private he was a completely different person. He could almost be considered friendly. Luke had even seen him _smile_ the other day, a genuine spontaneous smile, and had had to grab the barre to stop himself toppling out of his arabesque from pure shock. It had changed his entire face, and Luke felt like he deserved some kind of award, or at the very least a commemorative plaque, for witnessing the rare phenomenon. 

This reversal of fortune hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice, and Luke slowly but surely found himself being shunned by some of his former ‘friends’.

‘He must be doing Vader some kind of favour, that’s the only explanation.’

‘Never pegged Lars as someone who’d sleep his way to the top, but I guess you never truly know.’

‘Nah, Vader’s probably grooming him to be his protégé. They _do_ look kinda similar, after all.’

‘I’d never noticed, but yeah, you have a point. Hey, imagine if he was Vader’s illegitimate son or something? That would explain the favouritism.’

‘The runt of the litter, for sure.’

Their cruel laughter echoed in Luke’s ears as Leia glared stonily in their direction, hauling him away.

‘Ignore them Luke, they don’t know what they’re talking about. Are you really going to take crap from someone who doesn’t know her tours l’en air from her tendu?’

But Luke couldn’t help letting it get to him. They were judging him on accusations that were entirely false, and they hadn’t even bothered to approach him directly about it. The injustice stung, and he retaliated by retreating into himself; if he didn’t engage, he wouldn’t get hurt. He danced his woes away, and spent most of his free time relentlessly tracing the black swan’s steps, but the allegations still gnawed at him, burrowing under his skin until they fermented there like a thick heavy blanket of shame.

Vader, of course, seemed oblivious to Luke’s emotional turmoil. As long as he gave the man what he wanted in private rehearsals, Luke could throw his feelings into his dancing unnoticed, which made Vader his pseudo-therapist- a very dangerous position for them both.

‘Yes, Luke, that was almost perfect- though you need to lengthen your downstage arm more in the écarté when you come back to second.’

That was another thing, Luke reflected, as he repeated the movement with the correction.

_Luke._

Why had Vader suddenly started calling him by his first name? He hadn’t adopted this with any of the other dancers. Even Obi-Wan, close as he was with his students, very rarely addressed them by anything other than their surnames. It seemed to imply an intimacy bordering on friendship that both bewildered and terrified Luke.

Meanwhile, Vader was in his element. He never thought he would have either the patience or inclination to teach, let alone take on a protégé, but Luke held so much untapped potential that Vader had become consumed by the need to instruct him to the best of his ability. Though his change of heart had at first originated from a sense of duty to Padmé, it had quickly spiralled into something much more self-serving.

The boy was immaculate, the closest thing to a reincarnation of Padmé that the world would ever see, both in his dancing and in his personal mannerisms. Ever since discovering the truth, Vader watched hungrily for the signs that he now knew to look for, and wasn’t disappointed. Luke was so much like her, from the quiet confident grace he held himself with, to the way he wrinkled his nose when he knew he’d messed up a step before Vader even opened his mouth to point it out. That self-awareness and emotional intelligence was all Padmé, and Vader found as the weeks went on that his critiques were dwindling.

He’d also kept an eye on Luke outside rehearsals. It made his heart hurt to see the way he engaged with people, from complete strangers to Leia Organa. The kindness, the dignity, the dry wit, tempered with an underlying sheen of recklessness and daring that reminded him of himself. He’d allowed himself to hope for one dreadful, exhilarating second- but it couldn’t be. Padmé had always had a type, after all. It wasn’t surprising that the mystery father, the man who had so callously abandoned his pregnant partner and child, had most likely shared some characteristics with him.

Vader had long since decided that Luke would leave the New York City Ballet after _Swan Lake._ The boy was wasting his talents under Kenobi’s tutelage, and he would be making much better use of his time with Vader as his sole instructor. Seeing how quickly Luke had improved in just a few private lessons offered an exciting glimpse of the future Vader was determined that he would have. Neither Kenobi’s ineptitude nor the jealousy of insignificant co-workers would stand in Luke’s way. He would make Padmé’s boy a star, as was his birth right, through any means necessary.

He had everything figured out, except for the question of whether Luke would consent to this. His whole life was here; his job, his best friend, the mysterious ‘Ezra’ which Vader had filed away for later investigation. But if he told the boy about Padmé, however…

Vader had to suppress a smile as he watched Luke finish the last movement of the black swan’s variation, leaping into a grand jeté with his legs at perfect ninety degree angles. Though the boy had no knowledge of his birth mother, that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious. If he was anything like Padmé, which had been abundantly demonstrated, Luke would be desperate for answers- even if he had to resort to asking Vader for them. And Vader would be only too happy to give Luke what he craved.

Once Vader had cemented the boy’s trust by helping him perform his career-defining role as the black swan, he would reel him in with the truth about Padmé. Nobody, not even the absent asshole who’d taken his place by her side, knew Padmé as well as he had. He could give Luke not only his future, but his past, and then the boy would willingly remain by his side.

It would be all too easy.

The smile must have escaped, because Luke was now looking at him faintly puzzled as the music signalled his finishing pose.

It was no matter, Vader reflected, as he brought his hands up to applaud Padmé’s boy. Luke would understand very, very soon.

* * *

Luke wasn’t sure exactly what Vader was up to, but he knew it could be nothing good. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take the Bolshoi Ballet up on their offer after all…

He’d now had countless privates with the man, and every time he danced, Vader seemed to look more and more pleased with himself. He’d almost started to worry that Vader was giving him purposefully misleading instruction, sabotaging him from the inside; but this was impossible. He’d never felt in better physical shape, and though his body spent a lot of time complaining, he’d noticed a markable change in his physique that helped him dance the black swan better.

He dragged his limbs down the stairs, thighs quivering from over-exertion, and noted that although Vader’s critiques had lessened, the duration of their privates had lengthened considerably. It was now well past eleven pm, and everyone else had left hours earlier. It hadn’t been tortuous, however; Vader had started teaching him other dances aside from the black swan, snippets of the Firebird and Franz that Vader had portrayed during his illustrious career. Luke didn’t see what these had to do with dancing the black swan better, but he wasn’t brave enough to argue with the man, and he secretly enjoyed watching him dance. The man may be highly volatile, but he was a powerhouse. Vader had also asked him to repeat sections countless times while offering very little new instruction; sections which Luke knew he had nailed on the previous try. It was as if Vader was purposefully dragging it out, trying to get Luke to stay for as long as possible; as if, impossibly, he enjoyed Luke’s presence and wanted to get to know him more.

But to what end?

He was roused from his thoughts by a scuffling sound in the corner of the staircase down below. Suspecting rats, he pulled out his phone to dial for maintenance, gingerly tiptoeing down as quietly as he could.

He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or further dismayed when instead of rats he laid eyes on the strange tattooed man, the one with the camera that Leia had spotted prowling around the company for so long. He was fiddling with the lens again, oblivious to Luke’s presence, and swore in shock as Luke approached him.

‘Can I help you?’ Luke asked politely, as if the man wasn’t illegally trespassing at night. The man gave him a disparaging look that bordered on a sneer.

‘I don’t think so.’

His voice was not what Luke had expected. It was deep, almost aristocratic, and didn’t match the hard glint in his eyes.

‘Please, I insist. Let me take you to the principal’s office. That’s where all non-dancers must report to,’ Luke repeated, still polite but firm. He was bluffing slightly; Vader had indeed taken over the office in Obi-Wan’s absence, but he had no way of knowing whether Vader would still be there or if he’d already left. 

‘I _was_ a dancer, once,’ the man snarled, ‘so why don’t you run on home, pretty boy, and _stop interfering,_ or I’ll make you.’

‘Those are some lousy options. How about this instead; either you can tell me what you want, or I can alert security and have you escorted out of here causing a big scene in which they’ll most likely call the cops. It’s entirely up to you.’ Luke held up his phone, hovering over the number for security.

Maul tilted his head, as if considering him.

‘ _Fine_ , but not here. Somewhere private. This is sensitive information.’

Luke thought this was a rather strange request seeing as the building was already deserted, but gestured along the corridor to a practice room, keeping one hand on his phone at all times as Maul entered.

‘Let’s start with the obvious. Why have you been stalking the building for weeks on end?’ Luke demanded. Maul’s surprise deepened. 

‘People don’t usually notice me. At least, not people like _you.’_

‘What do you mean, people like _me?’_

‘You know exactly what I mean. Rich privileged brats who’ve probably never had to work a day in their lives,’ Maul said bitterly, though he seemed to be aiming his words at someone other than Luke. Luke still bristled at the accusation.

‘You couldn’t be more wrong! I’m far from rich, and I worked my ass off to get where I am, which is why I won’t have you ruining it with whatever defamation you’re trying to pull,’ Luke said stoutly. Maul looked reluctantly impressed.

‘I’ll admit, you have more backbone than I thought. But I’m still not sure if you’re prepared for the truth.’

Luke resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Being in the spotlight, he was used to sensationalist journalists trying to catch him off guard.

‘Try me.’

Maul glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers, before declaring:

‘Obi-Wan Kenobi isn’t the saint everyone thinks he is, and neither’s Vader.’

Luke would've laughed if he didn't think Maul would gut him for it. 

‘Believe me, I don’t think anyone would label Vader as a saint-’

‘I’ve been trying to get the scoop on them for ages,’ the man murmured eagerly, interrupting Luke, ‘biding my time, waiting for my revenge. It should be _my_ name in the history books, Maul instead of Kenobi and Vader. They’re the nation’s darlings, but they’re hiding more skeletons in the closet than anyone realises. Nobody knows the whole story about Palpatine-’

This caught Luke’s attention.

‘Palpatine? You mean the guy who founded the Japor Theatre?’

Maul laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

‘Ignorant child. He was so much more than you know; than _anybody_ realises. He promised me greatness, but I was robbed of my destiny by your despicable teacher and his precious apprentice.’

He started to pace furiously, and Luke watched in morbid fascination.

‘I know it is my investigation that has brought Vader back. He would only team up with Kenobi if he felt threatened. They couldn’t stand the sight of each other when they last met, which is exactly what Palpatine wanted. I suppose I should feel honoured that I have made that much of an impact. He was always an arrogant brat- I could never understand what Palpatine or Kenobi saw in him.’

Luke drank in the venomous words with curiosity and no small amount of confusion.

‘Palpatine wanted Vader and Obi-Wan to be enemies?’

‘Oh, yes. After the betrayal, he discarded Kenobi and set his sights firmly on Vader. I think he always meant for him to take over; that’s what he groomed him for, after all. But after the unfortunate business with little Rey… Palpatine made a big mistake. He could have had _everything,_ but he became over-confident. Reckless. I won’t allow the same thing to happen to me, not that he’s here to see it, of course, though _she_ still survives. She goes by a different name now; too ashamed to bear his mark. Vader and Kenobi still cling to their delusions, that Palpatine was to blame for it all. But they were far from innocent, especially after what happened with Amidala…’

Luke shifted, growing more and more uncomfortable with the rambling and the name-dropping. The man seemed slightly unhinged. The noise drew his attention to Luke, and he glanced away dismissively, then did a double take, his eyes sharpening. 

‘Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like her? Padmé Amidala,’ he repeated irritably at Luke’s blank expression.

‘When I’m dancing, then yeah, I suppose…’ Luke said slowly, not sure what he was getting at, but Maul was edging closer.

‘No, it’s not just that,’ he insisted lowly with a calculating expression, ‘there’s something about your face, your eyes… but then again, with that hair you look like you could be _his-’_

He stopped dead, frozen in shock as he stared at Luke like he was seeing him for the first time. Realisation dawned on his brow, replaced by a triumphant glee that Luke didn’t like at all.

‘Of course. It’s so obvious; how could I miss it staring me straight in the face? It’s clear as day. It’s because of _you!!’_

Luke stepped back, wondering if the man had truly lost his mind, but Maul kept advancing, a new hunger in his eyes.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, or what you’re insinuating, but you- you’re wrong. You’re crazy. I never knew my mother, and I’m trying to find out who she was-’

‘It’s no use, boy. I can see it, and so will everybody else. There’s no point hiring a private detective, or even the Hutts-’

Something must have shown on Luke’s face, as Maul started to laugh.

‘Don’t tell me. You _didn’t…_ you actually hired Jabba to find out who your mother was? Oh, this is _priceless_. He’ll never let you go now.’

‘What do you mean?’ Luke demanded angrily, trying to hide his fear, but Maul was too busy congratulating himself to listen.

‘This is my way out of this shithole, I’ll be an overnight success! The scoop of the _century,_ and Vader’s downfall, all in one go,’ he laughed maniacally, ‘ _You,_ child, are my golden ticket- _’_

He reached out greedily and Luke recoiled just as the door slammed open, an ominous figure silhouetted against the hallway light.

‘If you want to keep your limbs intact, Maul _,_ I suggest you _step away_ _from him_.’

Luke goggled at Vader, who looked more frightening than he’d ever seen him. Though he still wore his Givenchy coat and ballet shoes, there was nothing svelte or swan-like about him now. His brows were creased in unquenchable rage, his loose hair an untamed fire of bronze and burnished gold, and his coat billowed behind him like a declaration of war.

‘It’s too late, Vader. I’ve figured it out,’ Maul crowed, rounding on Vader as he stalked towards them, ‘you’re _finished.’_

Vader bypassed Maul as if he wasn’t there, clamping a heavy hand on Luke’s shoulder.

‘You will leave immediately, alert security, and then you will go straight home. Do you understand me?’

His blazing blue eyes bored into Luke’s, his booming voice startling him into submission as he nodded jerkily, escaping the room on shaky legs and making for the stairs.

What on _earth_ had all that been about?

* * *

‘Sounds like your regular nutjob to be honest,’ Ezra said around a mouthful of pretzels as they lounged in front of the television. Well, Ezra lounged- Luke was sitting ramrod straight, bouncing his knee nervously up and down. He’d got home around midnight and had related the entire story to Ezra, but offloading had only made Ezra scold him for not immediately alerting security when he first encountered Maul.

‘Hey, calm down. Your leg will fall off if you keep that up, and how’re you gonna dance if that happens?’ Ezra teased, trying to make Luke smile. His mouth didn’t even twitch.

‘He was mad with ambition, for sure, but… there’s something else here. Something I’m missing.’

‘You’re just overtired, Luke. Don’t let it spoil your weekend. Soon Obi-Wan will be back, and things will be normal again. You’ll see.’

But Luke didn’t see.

He was so exhausted from dancing, Vader’s inconsistent behaviour and the confrontation with Maul that he couldn’t even find the energy to eat dinner. He kept his eyes open long enough to shed his clothes, tug on his pyjamas inside out and tumble into bed before he was caught in a restless sleep.

‘You poor, pathetic thing. Believing me when I said you weren’t a nobody. You’re so desperate for validation, you’d take it from _anyone._ ’

It was Leia, but at the same time it _wasn’t_. Her beautiful face was screwed up into an ugly sneer and she seemed to tower over him as she laughed harshly in his face, which couldn’t be right because he was always ribbing her about her height-

She shoved him violently and he fell backwards onto the stage, a single spotlight shining directly on him. Clambering up and peering into the hazy horizon, he realised with a jolt of horror that he was facing a full house. It was completely silent, and the orchestra pit was deserted, but he began to dance anyway, tremulously tracing the black swan’s steps. He could feel the disappointment emanating from the audience as the silence was broken by harsh whispers and disgruntled muttering. He was not who they had come to see.

Valiantly he carried on, ankles shaking and muscles straining as the audience grew more and more restless.

‘Get off the stage!’

‘We’re paying to watch _this_ rubbish?!’

‘When’s the real dancing going to start!’

Tears pricking his eyes, Luke tried to ignore them, but it was hard not to drown in their catcalling, their jeers, their insults. The other swans flocked to the stage, their arms now majestic white feathered wings, eyeing him with pure disdain. Leia led them, her eyes flashing maliciously, flanked by Maul, who was dressed as the sorcerer Rothbart in a long black cloak. His staff, however, was emitting multicoloured sparks and swirls, which Luke didn’t remember happening in the prop rehearsal. Alarmed, he fell out of his turn and would have crashed to the ground if Maul hadn’t grabbed him.   
  
He cried out, trying to tug his arm free, and instantly Maul’s skin cleared, his features morphed and his frame lengthened as he materialised into Vader. 

Luke felt a small trickle of relief, slackening in his hold, and opened his mouth to ask- 

But Vader’s face was stony, his scar stark in the harsh stage light as he impatiently hauled Luke over to the set piece that served as the cliff in the finale. 

‘Too bad, _boy._ This was your chance, and you blew it. You’re _nothing.’_

Luke watched as Vader raised his staff, pointing it at centre stage, and a young woman materialised like a genie from a bottle. She glittered in the spotlight, Odette’s iconic sparkling white tutu flaring around her as she executed a flawless arabesque followed by a series of dizzyingly fast fouettés. The crowd went wild, thunderous applause ringing in Luke’s ears as flowers and gifts were thrown onto the stage, so many that the swans scattered back into the wings to avoid being hit by the hurled tokens. The young woman glanced over her shoulder, and Luke met the vivid brown eyes of Padmé Amidala. She looked at him sadly, and opened her mouth as if to say something, before disintegrating into a thousand fluttering feathers.

‘No- _Please-!’_

Vader flung him over the edge of the cliff and Luke fell like Odette in her final descent, except there was no safety check, no pre-prepared mattress to break his fall, just endless darkness, the wind whistling past his face and promising a sickening final end to his plummet-

_YOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGYOU’RENOTHINGY-_

Luke bolted upright, shirt stuck to his back with sweat, breathing shallowly, his heart thumping like he’d just danced the black swan ten times.

He wasn’t sure which had woken him, the climax of the nightmare or the chime of his phone, but either way it was a relief. He turned over in bed, hoping to find refuge in Ezra’s arms, only to find he wasn’t there. Either he was already at work, or he’d gone out early to the gym.

Heart sinking in disappointment, Luke rolled back over and reached for his phone, thinking it might be Ezra checking in.

_Hey doll. Here’s the information you wanted. Make sure you’re sitting down first- if that’s something that dancers even do._

Luke frowned as he opened the attachment; he didn’t remember mentioning to Jabba in any of his texts that he was a dancer…

‘Hey sleepyhead!’ Ezra sailed through the bedroom door, carrying two coffees in a cardboard holder and a brown paper bag that was sure to be full of some heavenly sugary carby goodness. ‘I thought you’d need extra sustenance this morning, you looked completely out of it and I know you didn’t eat last night… _’_

He trailed away, catching sight of Luke’s face.

‘Oh my god, what’s happened?? Is it your Aunt and Uncle?’

‘Sort of, yeah. Sorry, I-I’ve got to go- I’ll explain later-’

His voice was strained, and he dressed in record time, deflecting Ezra’s questions and pleas for Luke to tell him what was happening.

‘Luke, just calm down for a second and talk to me! Whatever it is, we can sort it together!’

Luke hauled his dance bag over his shoulder with shaky hands, successfully tying his shoelaces after three attempts and barrelling out of the apartment.

‘Even you can’t sort this one, Ezra.’

* * *

‘Luke! How are you, sweetheart?’

His aunt sounded pleased to hear from him, though surprised. It was early for a Saturday morning, and he’d usually be resting his aching feet in bed, but instead they had taken him relentlessly from the apartment to the company building with no idea how he’d got there, into a private practise space on the top floor. He locked the door and started to pace in the far corner, throwing his bag down with barely restrained rage.

The practise room was usually his sanctuary, his safe space, where he could dance uninhibited and let himself break down in private in order to build himself back up. The whitewashed walls, sleek lines and polished mirrors and barres maintained order in his frenetic turmoiled mind. But in the wake of the devastation, it had lost its soothing magic, its healing power, and did nothing to comfort the gaping hole in his chest. Instead, it was stagnant, sterile, silent, and this was the final straw that had propelled him over the edge.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Silence.

‘Tell you what, Luke-?’

‘ _Don’t._ Just, don’t. Don’t pretend. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I _know_ who my mother was.’

There was a faint gasp at the other end of the phone.

‘H-how did you find out-?’

‘That doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell me? How could you keep something that huge a secret from me?!’

He’d been determined to keep it together, but hot angry tears were already spilling down his cheeks. Beru hadn’t denied it. It was, impossibly, true.

‘We were trying to protect you, Luke. She was so famous, and we- well, we were worried about how it would affect you-’

‘But you could have warned me! You could have told me when I was eighteen, when I was an adult, when I was old enough to deal with the truth-’

‘It was too much to put on your shoulders, you were still so young-!’

‘ _Bullshit!’_ Luke shouted, ‘You had no right to keep it from me! She was my _mother,_ and you _lied!’_

‘You will _not_ talk to your aunt in that way!’

Owen’s furious voice cut in, clearly having been put on speakerphone, but Luke was past the point of caring as he ranted on.

 _‘_ You had every opportunity to tell me, but you left me in the dark! What did you think would happen?? That I would magically go through the rest of my life never finding out that Padmé Amidala was my _fucking mother_?’

Beru was in tears now, and this only made Luke cry harder.

‘You need to calm down before you start throwing around accusations! You wouldn’t have thanked us if we’d told you the truth back then, son. Knowing that the ballerina you looked up to your entire life, the most famous dancer in the world, was actually your mother? The pressure would have been too much. You would never have gone to New York, hell, you would never have danced again-’

‘Stop acting like you know me, like you’re an expert on what I would or wouldn’t have done, because you’re _not_!’

‘We raised you for sixteen years, _boy_! We took you in, kept you safe, cared for you! I think we know you better than anyone-’ Owen retorted.

‘You’re _wrong!_ You don’t know me at all, or you wouldn’t have lied to me! You would have told me yourselves instead of letting me agonise over it my whole life, desperate to know who she was, only to find out that I’m the reason she died! How can you possibly say you care when you didn’t respect me enough to tell me the truth!’ Luke cried, wiping his tears away furiously.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘Listen. I think it’s best if we come up to see you, talk this over face to face-’

‘Don’t bother. You never come and see me as it is- I don’t want you to waste your precious money on an ungrateful brat you ‘ _took in’_ out of the kindness of your hearts _-’_

‘Don’t put words in my mouth!’ Owen thundered, ‘Son, you need to calm down right now and apologise to your aunt- _’_

 _‘I’m not your son!’_ Luke yelled, hanging up the call and hurling his phone into the corner of the room where it immediately lit up again with another call. Luke rejected it and blocked the number, fingers trembling. He knew he was being childish, insufferable, hateful, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never felt so angry or betrayed in his life.

He’d always known there had to be some tragic backstory associated with his mother, or Beru and Owen wouldn’t have been so secretive about it, nor would their faces fall whenever young Luke piped up about wanting to meet his real mummy. But nothing could have prepared him for the truth that stared him in the face when he’d opened Jabba’s attachment.

It had been half of an authenticated birth certificate, with his full name, his birthday and the city he was born in all neatly outlined in ink, along with the details of the mother.

_Padmé Amidala (née Naberrie)._

_P.N._

Her birth date and death date- the same day he was born- matched the information on her Wikipedia page that Luke had often found himself drawn to on sleepless nights. The hospital admission signature, which was most likely the last thing she’d ever adorned with her name, matched the countless personalised memorabilia that fans sold for extortionate prices on eBay.

He sank to the floor, the walls spinning around him, clutching his phone to his chest. He felt unbearably cold, as if no amount of warmth could ever penetrate the icy horror that had frozen his heart.

The screen lit up again, vibrating against his clavicle, and he swore, raising his thumb to block the number; but saw instead it was a Twitter News notification, swiftly followed by lots of texts from his friends which all bore a similar message.

_Luke, have you seen the news? Unseen Padmé Amidala content!_

Pulse racing, Luke opened the app, praying that he hadn’t somehow been exposed to the world mere minutes after he himself had found out the truth.

But as he feverishly scanned the Trending page, it became clear that his secret was safe- for now.

_Archived interview with star dancer Padmé Amidala, most likely the last one of her life, released to the public twenty-one years after her death._

After clicking on the link and taking one look at the interview screencap, Luke could see why it had been archived. He noticed everyone in the comments clamouring over a certain timestamp, and it took a few attempts to drag the slider to the correct frame, his fingers shaking.

‘ _It’s an unusual move,’_ the interviewer commented, ‘ _for a dancer to go on record about their pregnancy. Especially one as high profile as you.’_

‘ _Perhaps,_ ’ Padmé said, and Luke choked on a sob as he knowingly heard his mother’s voice for the first time in his life, ‘ _but I think it’s a ridiculous stigma, not to mention sexist. That’s why I agreed to this interview.’_

‘ _So you don’t see your pregnancy as the end of your career? You don’t have any regrets?’_

Luke wanted to go back in time and punch the interviewer, but his mother laughed patiently, a wonderful tinkling sound like a glissando on a harp.

_‘None whatsoever. And I don’t see it as the end of my career. This is the end of one path, but life is full of many more. This is a very exciting new journey for me, and I can’t wait to welcome my son into the world.’_

‘ _Son? You already know the gender of your child?’_

 _‘Not officially, no. I wanted to keep it a surprise. Some people,_ ’ she smiled secretly to herself, ‘ _would probably expect it to be a girl. But I’m convinced it’s a boy.’_

_‘And do you have a name picked out, Miss Amidala?’_

_‘Oh yes. I’ll name him Luke, for being the light of my life.’_

Stunned, Luke paused the video, eyes roving between Padmé’s beautiful glowing face and the round baby bump she caressed.

_No._

There was no way-

Luke jumped out of his skin as the door slammed open, admitting a very out of breath and red-in-the-face Leia.

‘I hoped I’d find you here! Ezra said you went AWOL and you weren’t answering your phone, but I had a hunch. Have you _seen_ the news-?! Stupid question, of course you have. No one loves Padmé Amidala more than you, except I think my love has now surpassed yours, because she was a total badass in that interview! She was _not_ having the sexism from that interviewer- she’s like the original Jackie Weaver- I have a completely newfound respect for her! And of course, she had great taste in baby names. The conspiracy theorists will be back at it again, saying you’re her long-lost son,’ Leia laughed, ‘you’d better watch your back Luke-’

‘Leia,’ Luke began quietly.

‘They were just being bitchy, but if they find out you’re adopted they might actually start to believe their own delusions-’

‘ _Leia-_ ’

‘They would _never_ shut up about it if they found out-’

‘ _LEIA!’_

She startled.

‘It’s true. Padmé Amidala was my mother.’

Leia’s face scrunched up with scepticism and slight pity, which spurred Luke’s rage. 

‘I know you admire her, Luke, and it’s not a bad thing-’

‘No, you don’t understand. She was my _mother._ I got the proof from Jabba this morning.’

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She took a deep breath.

‘Luke, you can’t seriously believe that, especially coming from that slug. He’s just winding you up, messing with your head-’

‘I asked my aunt and uncle! They confirmed it! It’s _true,_ Leia. Padmé Amidala was my mother!’

He thrust his phone at her, screen left open on the bombshell document. He watched her eyes flit over the birth certificate as a multitude of emotions flashed across her face- disbelief, uncertainty, anger, horror, then finally acceptance.

She met his stare slowly, guiltily, her cheeks flaring pink.

‘Luke, I…I-I’m so s-’

His face crumpled as he started to sob, hunched over on the floor like a child, the reality of what had happened sinking into his bones. 

She dropped to the ground beside him, gathering him up into a hug as he cried endlessly into her shoulder, holding him tightly.

Neither knew how long they sat like that for- the two best dancers in the New York City Ballet curled up together in a dusty corner in sweatpants, no words exchanged as she let him purge all of his grief, rage and shock into the stunned silence.

‘I’m sorry,’ he hiccupped at last, feeling like he could finally breathe again, ‘I’ve got snot all over your Armani sweater.’

‘Yeah, well. Best friend privileges and all that.’

She kissed the top of his head.

‘What can I do? Say the word, and it’s yours.’

Luke was silent for a few moments, the odd sniffle escaping.

‘Don’t tell anyone. Especially not Ezra; he’ll just say ‘ _I told you so’.’_

‘He wouldn’t, Luke, and you know it. He’d want to be there for you. You can only keep it a secret for so long-’

‘My aunt and uncle made it to a record twenty-one years, so let’s see how well I do,’ Luke said bitterly. Leia bit her lip.

‘Okay. I promise I won’t tell him. But please think about it once you’ve had time to process it.’

He looked up at her, appearing so heartbreakingly childlike and lost that she almost started crying on his behalf.

‘How long will that take?’

As much as she wanted to give him an answer, she didn’t have one.

* * *

After countless hugs and promising Leia he would go home directly and stop Ezra blowing up her phone, Luke pocketed his key card and trudged away from the company building.

This was all his fault and he knew it. If he hadn’t gone chasing after answers he couldn’t handle, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He would’ve watched that interview with a heavy heart, knowing that she would die in childbirth, but not cursed with the knowledge that he was the cancer that had ended her life. All this time, _he_ was the despised foetus that the dance world would probably crucify if they knew who he was.

Crying all over Leia had made him feel ever so slightly better, though, and he was half glad that she had barged in on him after the discovery. Otherwise, he would’ve probably never found the courage to trust her with his sordid secret, and he would feel even more alone.

Luke’s phone rang, signalling a FaceTime call, and he mindlessly picked it up, half-hoping it was Ezra who he’d run out on with no explanation, or even better, his aunt and uncle, he needed to explain, to apologise-

It wasn’t Ezra or Aunt Beru. It wasn’t even Han.

‘Well, hello, sweetheart. Or should I say, Mr Lars. Nice to finally put a face to the name.’

Luke found himself looking at the ugliest human being he’d ever seen. His bloated face filled the screen, small watery eyes alight with a calculated glee as he took in Luke. His mouth creased into an approximation of a smile, like he'd never done it before but had seen a child's drawing of one once and tried to impersonate it. It was a hideous thing, too big for his face and stretching it wide, and he rumbled what was most likely a laugh.

‘Er… hi, Mr Hutt. What can I do for you?’ Luke said awkwardly, wondering simultaneously why the man thought it was appropriate to Facetime him all of a sudden, and when exactly this terrible day would finally end.

‘Jabba, my boy, call me Jabba, and it’s what I can do for _you._ I have discovered something that I think you’ll be very interested in- though perhaps you’ve had enough revelations for one day,’ his gaze glimmered wickedly as he noticed the redness around Luke’s eyes, ‘I’m sure you must be exhausted from processing it; not to mention all that dancing.’

Luke’s stomach squirmed at the second mention of his occupation that he definitely had never told Jabba about, and he remembered Han’s warning.

 _Give him as little information about you as possible, and whatever you do,_ _don’t_ _go telling him you have a high-profile job. Jabba likes to know things like that-_

‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you. You don’t need to concern yourself,’ Luke replied stiffly, wishing he’d splashed his face with cold water before answering the call. Or better yet, not picked it up at all.

‘In that case, I won't try your patience anymore,’ Jabba said smoothly, looking mightily pleased with himself. Reaching out of frame for a second, he waved a piece of paper into the camera lens- a piece of paper that looked suspiciously like-

‘Your birth certificate. The other half, that is. Seeing as you’re a friend of Solo’s, I thought I’d do a thorough job on your behalf. Stands to reason if you don’t know your mother, you wouldn’t know your father either.’

Luke, sensing where this was going, hungrily leaned forwards to read the name, but Jabba yanked it out of sight.

‘Ah ah, I can’t let you have it yet. Got to go through all the official avenues for legitimacy- you know how it is.’

Luke, knowing that was _not_ how it was when you were a Hutt, was incensed, and it must have shown on his face. Jabba laughed again, and the sound made Luke’s skin crawl.

‘The kitten has claws! Not to worry, Luke Lars, it’ll be delivered to your address first thing tomorrow morning- forgive me, my mistake. _Luke_ _Skywalker.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke channelling Hamilton on the phone to Owen: CALL ME SON ONE MORE TIME. 
> 
> Leave a comment to let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading! 💕
> 
> Come scream about SW with me on [Tumblr](https://couronnedesfleurs.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleurscouronne).


	4. Interlude: Fermata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin must confront the past to rectify the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter one this time, though still important. There will be a longer wait for the next chapter as I said in my previous author's note, but I had a lot of fun writing this scene and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> A different ballet for once, but this [Pas de Deux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YR5USHu6D6U&ab_channel=thiagoblanco) gives me major Anakin and Padme vibes and is *incredibly* beautiful.

Nursing his knuckles, Vader sat stiffly in the back seat of the cab and watched the twinkling skyscrapers flit past, set against the backdrop of a full moon. The urban beauty was lost on him, still trembling with rage that he could barely restrain.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head; Maul, stalking towards Padmé’s boy with malicious triumph written all over his face; Luke, precious, priceless Luke, totally clueless as to who the man was, what he was capable of; and himself, the cursed, burdened bridge that linked the two.

He thought of the damage Maul could do, the danger Luke was in, what would have happened if he hadn’t arrived when he did.

He wanted to beat the man up all over again.

Not only would Maul now have a renewed vendetta, he had ruined any progress Vader had made in trying to get closer to Luke. He’d felt that the ice was thawing between them, that Luke’s respect for him was starting to outgrow his fear, that he was starting to trust Vader. But as he’d approached the pair with pure murder in his eyes, he’d seen how Luke flinched away from his touch.

Maul had gone too far this time. He had encroached on his territory, taunted him to his face, and threatened all that was left of Padmé.

Something had to be done.

‘We’re here, sir-’

He chucked a handful of notes at the driver, flung open the door and stormed into the building before the cab had even rolled to a stop. 

Damn Kenobi. Always around when he wasn’t wanted, never there when needed. It wasn’t like he could just call the man; they had probably long since blocked each other’s numbers.

‘Good evening, sir. Who are you here to see? If you’d like to state your business, I can call through on your behalf-’

‘Don’t bother, I know where I’m going.’

The receptionist’s eyes widened as Vader stalked straight past the welcome desk into the elevator, jabbing the button for the top floor. His coat fanned behind him like rippling waves disturbing a still pond. 

‘Sir, you can’t just walk in, you’re not authorized-!’

The closing doors cut off the sight of her panicked face, no doubt pressing a button under her desk to alert security. He scowled at the unsubtle cameras hidden in the corners of the lift, resisting the urge to give them the middle finger. They clearly did not know who he was, and that if he so wished, he could buy this entire building and have it demolished in a heartbeat. They would be wise to let him continue undisturbed.

At long last the elevator dinged, revealing a long, characterless corridor. He didn’t have to search for his desired destination, as there was only one front door, which he rapped on impatiently and none-too-quietly.

Vader was greeted by a double take from a bleary-eyed Obi-Wan. He certainly looked worse for wear, face pale and ashy, wrapped in a silk dressing gown.

‘Anakin? What are you doing here, at-’ he checked his watch as his eyebrows rose to his hairline ‘almost one AM? Not to mention you could catch my flu-’

‘I’ve been vaccinated,’ Vader dismissed irritably, barging past Obi-Wan into his penthouse, ‘and besides, we need to talk. Now.’

‘And a phone call wouldn’t suffice?’

Vader snorted.

‘Let’s not pretend like we don’t have each other’s numbers blacklisted and just get to the point, shall we?’

‘By all means-’

He was interrupted by a shrill wailing from the security system next to the peephole, and pressed the flashing intercom.

‘Mr Kenobi, sir, there’s an intruder coming up to the top floor! I’ve alerted security and they’re on their way now-’

‘It’s quite alright Marlene, I know him. Please don’t trouble yourself on my account.’

‘Oh, er, I see. Shall I have him added to your list of authorised guests, sir? Is he a friend of yours?’

Obi-Wan watched Vader prowl around the sleek living room, glaring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the magnificent view as if it had personally offended him.

‘That remains to be seen. Have a nice evening.’

His pleasant but firm tone brought the conversation to a close as Vader broke open the liquor cabinet.

‘Drinking again, Anakin?’

‘What did I tell you about using that name,’ Vader growled, downing a glass of highly expensive whiskey in record time- Obi- Wan vaguely recognised it as one he had been saving for a special occasion- and pouring another before throwing himself into Obi-Wan’s favourite armchair.

‘Make yourself at home,’ he said dryly, helping himself to a glass and taking a seat on the leather couch. He didn’t usually make a habit of drinking in the middle of the night, but the Anakin effect had always been rather singular. The man in question glowered at him from across the coffee table.

‘I’d rather not. This whole place is so disgustingly _you._ It’s typical of you to insist on having the entire top floor to yourself, even though you’re afraid of heights.’

He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette.

‘Please don’t smoke in here, you’ll set off the fire alarm. And it is _flying_ that I’m not so fond of, especially whenever you were behind the wheel. Heights themselves I am fine with. I trust you didn’t come here just to insult my home décor?’

‘No, though it _is_ undeniably appalling.’

Vader gestured around the room, brandishing his drink which sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the glass. It was then that Obi-Wan saw his bleeding knuckles.

‘Relax, I won’t get it on your precious furniture,’ Vader sneered with an eye roll, observing his concern. He was flicking the unlit cigarette between his fingers with restless energy, clearly itching to reach for his lighter. Obi-Wan was surprised he had respected his wishes in his own home, seeing as he never did so at the company.

Wordlessly he stood up and went to the kitchen, rummaging around for the first aid kit, receiving a look of surprise when he tossed it into Vader’s lap.

‘Maybe not, but I’d be a poor host to sit here and let you bleed out- even if an unwilling one. I suppose I should check that you haven’t been beating up any of my students in my absence?’

Vader gingerly opened the kit as if its contents were completely alien.

‘Though that would have been an ingenious way to cease my employment and terminate this ridiculous agreement, no. It was someone who should never have found his way into the studio in the first place.’

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed.

‘Maul. I was right; he _is_ getting desperate.’

‘Desperation or not, he should never have been able to enter the building. You need to sort out the security at your company, old man. If it weren’t for me, he could’ve seriously harmed Luke-’

‘Luke?’ Obi-Wan sat up in alarm, ‘wait, what was _Luke_ doing there?’

‘He was having a private lesson with me,’ Vader said with no small hint of smugness as he started to bandage his hand.

Obi-Wan stared at him flatly.

‘He was _willingly_ having a private lesson, approaching midnight, with _you_.’

‘There are _some_ dancers who wish to have a successful career, Kenobi, who understand that they need to put in the necessary work to achieve greatness. Luke is one of them.’

‘He seems to have won your respect; an admirable trait, seeing as there is so little of it to be had,’ Obi-Wan said coolly. ‘Why the sudden change of heart?’

‘I was… hasty, in judging him. He has proved himself to be a worthy student, which is why he will be leaving your company after Swan Lake. He needs dedicated personal instruction, not to be dragged down by his deadweight colleagues-’

‘And who’s going to teach him?’ Obi-Wan raised a disbelieving eyebrow, taking another sip of bourbon, ‘You?’

‘Who else? It seems only fitting that _I_ be the one to teach Padmé’s son.’

Obi-Wan’s whiskey projected an impressive few metres.

‘ _P-Padmé’s son??’_ he spluttered, _‘_ Have you completely lost your mind?!’

‘It’s true. I caught him wearing her pointe shoes weeks ago. He said they were his mother’s. It all fits. He is twenty-one, born on the day she-’

He stood abruptly, reaching for the whiskey bottle again. Obi-Wan sat in almost catatonic shock, gripping his empty glass.

‘And you’re certain, quite certain?’

‘Do you think I would mistake those shoes?’ Vader snarked, and Obi-Wan’s face settled into grim resolution.

‘No, I suppose not.’

They were silent for a few moments; Obi-Wan still processing the bombshell, Vader watching carefully for any sign of deceit or deception. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or further riled when he could find only genuine confusion.

‘All this time, right under my nose, and I never realised… it’s so obvious now I think about it. He is the very image of her. But why did he never tell me?’

‘He doesn’t know. He said he never knew his mother, that he knows nothing of who she was.’

Obi-Wan, who had been starting to come to terms with the news, was floored all over again.

‘Not-not _know_ her? But how is that possible?’

‘He is adopted, is he not? It seems they were abysmally foolish and chose to keep his heritage a secret. It is a disgrace, an outrage, a _scandal,’_ Vader fumed, ‘he is Padmé’s child; her _only_ child. He should have been raised like a king, wanting for nothing, and instead he ends up here in a cohort of washed-up talent and mediocre dancers like an orphan begging for scraps-’

Resolutely ignoring the stream of insults out of concern for Luke, Obi-Wan sighed.

‘What has passed cannot be changed; but we must tread carefully from here. Naturally he must be told-’

‘ _No,’_ Vader said vehemently, ‘not yet. Not until after Swan Lake. After that, _I_ will tell him everything. He needs to focus on his performance, and he can’t afford any distractions-’

‘Speaking of which, I hope you put a swift stop to that pointe work. Leading up to a performance as big as this one is the worst time to start experimenting; he could risk seriously injuring himself,’ Obi-Wan mused.

‘It seems we have found one thing on which we agree,’ Vader said grudgingly.

‘And they say miracles don’t happen.’

There was a brief second where they almost smiled, a fleeting moment in which two opposed souls nearly united as equals, before Obi-Wan’s face lost what little colour remained.

‘Maul knows, doesn’t he? He found out who Luke was.’

‘He has no concrete proof,’ Vader scoffed, ‘though he was spewing accusations left and right before I told Luke to leave. There wasn’t much of a conversation after that. However, I believe I made my feelings quite clear.’

Eyeing his bloodied and bruised knuckles, Obi-Wan winced.

‘I see. How far does Maul suspect what we know to be true?’

‘He saw the resemblance to Padmé immediately. It is hard not to, as someone who knew her first-hand. But he had some other…theories.’

The air shifted with something dangerous.

‘Oh?’

‘Maul thinks the boy is mine,’ Vader said lowly, not taking his eyes off Obi-Wan, not even to blink.

‘Well? Is he?’ Obi-Wan replied with forced calm.

‘You tell me.’

Their eyes met over the tense, taut silence.

‘Not this _again_ , Anakin!’ Obi-Wan exclaimed, springing up from the couch, ‘How many times are we going to repeat this charade? Padmé and I _never_ slept together, she was never interested in me! She never had eyes for anyone except _you_ , though you were too blind and foolish to see it! Old habits die hard, after all!’

He began to pace, looking longingly between his empty glass and the swiftly depleting bottle before shaking his head and turning away. This irked Vader to the core. Obi-Wan had always been the master of his emotions, a maestro of self-control, a model of discipline.

‘I refuse to go through this anymore. If you still don’t believe me now, you never will.’

He rounded on Vader, who took an arrogant satisfaction in seeing the flawless ballet master unravelling slightly. Their temperaments were so wildly different that clashes of this kind were inevitable, even when they’d been on good terms. Obi-Wan believed Anakin was ruled by his emotions, whilst Anakin was convinced Obi-Wan had none.

‘I don’t know how you can look at that boy and claim he is somehow mine, when if anything he’s the spit of _you._ Palpatine really was a master at his game,’ Obi-Wan said bitterly as Vader shot up from the armchair.

‘He played us all nicely,’ Vader thundered, ‘but he might not have been so successful if you hadn’t set up the board! You couldn’t just leave well enough alone-’

‘You honestly think that things would’ve been different if I hadn’t intervened? If I’d sat back and watched it happen?’ It was Obi-Wan’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘You truly are lost; I don’t know why I ever hoped you could be found-’

‘Don’t act like you weren’t hoping for this all along,’ Vader murmured, raw and dark, ‘as if you weren’t praying for my downfall since the moment Qui-Gon foisted me off on you. You never wanted a student, and you certainly weren’t shy in showing it. I was a thorn in your side from the moment we met. You couldn’t wait to be rid of me. You were _jealous,_ old man, jealous of a child who was more talented than you, and look where it has brought you.’

Obi-Wan stared long and hard, piercing Vader with a look that sent him straight back to his youth.

‘Come. I want to show you something.’

Turning on his heel as if it hurt to look at him any longer, Obi-Wan marched into an adjoining room. Trying to shake off the feeling that he was about to be shamed and scolded like the insolent young boy he once was, Vader followed haughtily.

He had to hide his surprise at being led into the master bedroom, that Obi-Wan would willingly invite him into his inner sanctuary; a private and personal space which Anakin had long since lost the right to.

On the surface it was no different than the rest of his apartment. Clean, tidy, modern and functional with a sleek style that may as well have been trademarked as Kenobi. But there were personal touches that the other rooms lacked, namely the collection of photographs spaced neatly across the dresser.

With a pang of nostalgia, Vader took in the faces that had made up so much of his past. Qui-Gon, Anakin’s idol, stood with his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, looking immensely proud. There was even a photograph of the three of them, blurry and clearly having been taken in a hurry; it had probably not been long before Qui-Gon had left. Vader locked eyes with his younger self, grinning toothily with Obi-Wan’s arm around him. Not long afterwards he’d been extremely bitter, having been promised Qui-Gon as a teacher but getting Kenobi instead. It hadn’t taken long for that disappointment to fade, replaced by a deep fraternal bond.

With a sickening jolt, he noticed how Obi-Wan looked at Anakin with the same pride and affection as Qui-Gon had shown him. This was demonstrated by the numerous photographs of Anakin and Obi-Wan together over the years- not just in training but doing regular everyday things. Day trips to the theme park, excursions to Long Island Beach (‘ _Why did we have to come here Obi-Wan, you know I don’t like sand!’)_ and wandering the Central Park Zoo, as well as the one memorable occasion Obi-Wan had taken Anakin flying for his birthday and staggered out afterwards looking decidedly green ( _‘But I’m a great pilot!’ ‘Only in your mind, my very young apprentice’)._

His eyes lingered on a later photo, taken in the studio. Anakin all grown up, high cheekbones and messy blond hair, yet again accompanied by an older and even more refined Obi-Wan. In the middle of them, however, was a petite dark-haired girl with mahogany eyes and a starbright smile. Instead of the camera, she was looking directly at Anakin with unbearable softness.

‘ ** _Smile,_** _Ani! I know you might be all grown up and a professional dancer now, but it doesn’t mean you have to look so serious all the time.’_

Neighbouring that was a shot of just the two of them, his hair now even longer and more tousled, scar freshly slashed through his eyebrow. She, however, never changed; always impossibly beautiful and unfailingly kind. The moonlight cast luminous beams over her face, shrouding him in darkness. They weren’t touching, but there was an intimacy in the way they were stood, in the way they stared impatiently at the camera as if they could barely keep their eyes off each other, as if there were numerous more important things to be doing. The photograph was much like the many Vader had buried away at his private mansion where he was never home. It was too painful to be constantly surrounded by the ghost of her, so he had hidden them away, as if that could erase her memory from his mind. Yet another thing he had failed miserably at. 

‘Why have you…’ he sounded broken even to his own ears, ‘w-what is this? What exactly are you trying to pull?’

‘I’m trying to knock some sense into you, and convince you that the whole world isn’t against you. It never was. I loved you, and so did she.’

His heart plummeted as he gazed at her, her radiant face immortalised in film for eternity. His eyes roved down to her stomach. Was she already pregnant when this photo was taken? Had she known even then that her career was over, that there was a precious new life blooming inside her?

Had she known if Anakin was the father or not?

‘There was no one else, Anakin,’ Obi-Wan said softly, ‘She loved you, and you alone, and yet you still doubt her after all this time.’

‘I don’t doubt _her_! I never did, it was _you_ I didn’t trust-’

‘Because I went behind your back?’

‘ _Yes!’_

‘You were too close to Palpatine, Anakin. I couldn’t risk him finding out. The situation was too delicate-’

‘You had no right getting her involved and you had no right to keep me in the dark,’ Vader snarled, ‘you turned her against me, you ruined _everything-_ ’

‘You did that yourself,’ Obi-Wan said sharply, ‘you needed no help from me. You pushed her away because of your insecurities. _You_ turned your back on her, Anakin, on me, on everyone who ever cared for you- not the other way around.’

Vader lifted his head, looking impossibly young all of a sudden. His eyes were redder than before, and his voice edged on hysteria.

‘You know what? Fine. Fuck it. _I_ screwed up. _I_ was weak. _I_ lost her, and I’ve never forgiven myself. Happy now?’

‘Not at all,’ Obi-Wan said sadly, and for a frightening moment it looked like he was going to reach out to him before Vader recoiled.

‘Don’t…don’t pity me. That’s the worst thing you could do,’ he snapped, horrified to find moisture pooling in his eyes.

He turned to the window, unable to look at the photographs or Obi-Wan any longer. The guilt, the anger, the suffocating self-hatred was too much to bear. He watched the traffic inch past hundreds of metres below, excruciatingly slow, pitifully insignificant.

‘So what happens now? You begin your victory march and become even more insufferable? You already guilt tripped me into coming back in the first place, so I presume this is what you wanted all along,’ Vader said, though it lacked any real heat.

Obi-Wan came to stand next to him, keeping a wary distance as if he was a skittish animal.

‘It’s late. I suggest we continue this discussion at a more civilized hour-’

‘No. We must have a plan for keeping Maul at bay- until Swan Lake is over, at least.’

His voice was monotone once again. He had closed himself off, raised those impenetrable barriers that had been built on twenty-one years of pain and misunderstanding. Obi-Wan sighed.

‘I will report it to the NYPD and have my lawyers draft a request for a restraining order, as well as tighten security around the building. I will also see that he is kept out of the theatre in case he attempts any sabotage during the performance, I have a responsibility to my dancers-’

‘Then Luke will be my personal responsibility. I will protect him from Maul, and the truth, until it is all over. I will keep him safe, and make sure he has no distractions from dancing the black swan.’

Obi-Wan hummed noncommittally, not entirely approving of Anakin’s complete role reversal from antagonist to fairy godmother, but not wanting to fan the flames of his ire. He’d known Anakin long enough to be sure there was always an inferno blazing somewhere in that impossible, brilliant mind.

‘How is he coming along?’

Vader smiled, and if Obi-Wan had still been holding his whiskey glass, it would currently be in tiny bits on the floor.

‘He’s a natural. When he dances it’s as if I’m watching her all over again, but he also has his own style. At first he had trouble getting into the character of the black swan, but he has improved considerably under my guidance. There is no doubt in my mind that he will be just as magnificent as she was.’

There was a wistful silence as they both remembered Padmé’s initial struggles with adopting Odile’s mindset, compared to the way she had leapt onto the stage on opening night. Her tiny frame seemed to hold all the intensity of a burning sun as she not only danced the movements flawlessly, but _lived_ through them, throwing her heart and soul into every step as if it was the last she would ever take. There was a reason it was cited as one of the greatest ballet performances of all time, and it looked like history was destined to repeat itself.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

‘I can’t wait to see it. My doctor informs me I’m on the road to recovery and I should be back in time for the press evening, if not some rehearsals beforehand…’

He broke off, looking between Vader and the photographs which might as well have come from another lifetime.

‘Anakin, I- we have much to talk about-’

‘There’s nothing more to discuss. I wanted to tip you off about Maul, as a common courtesy, and now I have. I owe you nothing. You owe me nothing. We will carry on as before.’

He avoided Obi-Wan’s searching gaze.

‘Is that what you truly want, Anakin?’

‘What I want is to get this wretched show over and done with, and focus on training Padmé’s son. I am no longer your enemy, but if you stand in my way, that will quickly change,’ he gritted out.

‘I understand how you must feel, especially after all this time, but… you are too attached, your emotions are too heavily involved-’

‘That is none of your concern. I am the closest thing that boy has to a father, seeing as whoever it was abandoned him to a life of obscurity and neglect. I will do what I must, for Padmé, and _nobody_ \- not even you- will stand in my way.’

Slipping past Obi-Wan, he made his way to the door with a dancer’s agility and grace, pulling out another cigarette as he did so. Obi-Wan followed a few steps behind with a bittersweet smile.

‘I wish you would quit those death sticks. You’re slowly killing yourself, not to mention the drinking. You need to start looking after yourself-’

‘-and you need to stop pretending to care about my wellbeing, old man.’

‘You still believe I don’t care about you? Have I not demonstrated the very opposite?’ Obi-Wan said, exasperated but somehow fond.

‘That’s different. You care for the boy you raised, and that boy is long gone.’

‘I don’t think so. I raised a wonderful dancer, but I also raised an exceptional man. I think he’s still in there somewhere.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ Vader grumbled, hating how Obi-Wan saw right through him, as well as how childish he sounded. ‘I should probably have your number, to keep you updated on Maul. But don’t go thinking we’re friends now or anything,’ he warned, though he sounded half-hearted even to himself, ‘we’re merely allies. This changes nothing.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Obi-Wan said wryly as he took out his phone. Instead of reading out his number however, he typed a quick message, and Vader’s phone pinged in his coat pocket. His mouth opened in surprise as Obi-Wan smiled.

‘I never blocked your number, Anakin, just as it seems you never blocked mine. Goodnight,’ Obi-Wan said softly, closing the door in his stunned face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can these dumbasses just hug and make up already?? 
> 
> Leave a comment to let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading! 💕
> 
> Come scream about SW with me on [Tumblr](https://couronnedesfleurs.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleurscouronne).


	5. Pas de Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting at the New York Arts charity ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory music spam! I found a [GREAT playlist for Vader](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMCSdgkdOJc&ab_channel=ultravclet) and it reminded me that I never linked this piece of music, which is unforgiveable bc it’s what I imagine plays every time he enters a room. It’s like the [ballet equivalent of the Imperial March](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBsKplb2E6Q&ab_channel=bachkwt) and suits his dramatic ass so well. 
> 
> For something a bit more chill, this is [Ezra and Luke’s waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSji5Gamq8Q&ab_channel=UschisChannel2) and coincidentally one of my fave pieces of music ever.
> 
> Edit: I forgot to add [Dionysus by BTS](https://youtu.be/-moUJ3Lw_TQ) which inspired the general chaotic energy of this chapter ft everyone getting smashed and making increasingly bad decisions. 
> 
> This chapter was a monster that somehow went over 10k words and I've struggled to get it finished over the last few weeks, so I'm sorry if it's a bit off. Life is hard rn so there will be a longer wait for the next one as all my updates are *very* slow atm. 
> 
> TW for brief violence towards the end. Enjoy!

‘Stop tugging at it, you look _fine.’_

‘Easy for you to say, yours actually fits properly!’

‘Nobody would even notice if you just stopped fidgeting with it!’

Luke straightened Ezra’s tux jacket where it was hanging lopsidedly.

‘There. Don’t you dare mess with it again, it looks perfect. You scrub up well, even at the very last minute,’ he smiled.

‘Hey, it was supposed to be romantic and spontaneous. I finished earlier than expected and wanted to surprise you!’

‘Yeah… you definitely succeeded there.’

Owing to Ezra’s busy work schedule, Luke had accepted that he would be attending the New York Arts charity ball alone. He’d been dreading it for weeks, as these events always seemed to become more of a fashion and wealth competition rather than anything else, which of course meant that Vader would be attending. This year’s chosen charity was an organisation which supported young vulnerable single mothers all over the city, and it had struck a particularly close nerve.

After Jabba’s bombshell, he’d spent what little free time he had trying to find out any information about his father. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide everything from Ezra, who had noticed Luke’s lack of contact with his aunt and uncle, as well as his evasive behaviour. The worst part was, it had all been for nothing. He’d come up empty handed.

The certificate had materialised as promised- Luke didn’t want to think too closely about how Jabba had known his address- and Anakin Skywalker’s details had been filled in by the registrar, meaning he hadn’t been present for Luke’s birth. There were no records of court payments, child support, or indeed any other proof that the man was even a father, let alone that he had ever existed. He may as well have been a ghost.

Had he somehow not known he was having a child?

Or had he simply not cared enough to show up?

He thought of how his mother must have felt- alone, afraid, faced with the prospect of raising her child by herself. Sad and outraged on her behalf, he had buried the certificate at the bottom of a drawer, vowing not to look at it again. Seeing his absent father’s name inked in a stranger’s hand carved a hollow hole in his chest.

Nonetheless, it had strengthened his resolve to attend the ball, however much he wished he could find an excuse not to go. He’d already donated a modest amount to the charity, the most he could afford alongside the crippling apartment rent, but he still needed to show his face. Anyone who was anyone in the world of performance simply could not miss this night, and as the star of _Swan Lake,_ he had no choice. The avant-garde production with its subverting of gender roles and dramatic pairing of directors had New York abuzz, and he knew there’d be even more scrutiny than ever. The paparazzi that frequently hovered outside the company building would all be flocking to the ball, hoping to get the perfect shot and the ground-breaking scoop that everyone hungered for- the truth about had happened between Vader and Kenobi.

Luke, still wary of the emotional whiplash Vader excelled at, promised himself not to get involved. His opinion would be sought, seeing as he was being coined as Vader’s protégé, but the truth was that he was just as clueless as everyone else. Obi-Wan and Vader seemed to have a very complex, explosive past, and Luke knew that despite his curiosity, he should stay as far away as possible. Obi-Wan was still unwell, so all eyes would be on Vader, and Luke hoped he could remain fairly incognito. Luke would miss Obi-Wan’s calm, reassuring presence, especially since Ezra wasn’t going. He’d resigned himself to being a third wheel to Han and Leia the whole evening, and had arrived at the hotel early before dusk fell to try and avoid the crowds and cameras.

So when Ezra had texted him out of the blue saying that he was outside the back entrance, Luke was overjoyed. The overwhelming affection as he laid eyes on his boyfriend, miraculously solid and real and _there_ , quickly turned to horror as his eyes travelled down to his scruffy work clothes.

He immediately called Leia who was by his side in a heartbeat. She looked incongruous on the grimy pavement, resplendent in a black one-shouldered ombre gown that faded to white at the hem, with her long hair braided up into an elaborate crown. She took one look at Ezra and blanched.

‘Say no more.’

Whipping out her phone, she had a quick and terse conversation including the words ‘immediately’ and ‘charge it to the account’.

‘I can’t promise miracles, but at least it’ll be better than…that,’ she remarked as Luke hugged her.

‘You’re a _star,_ Leia-’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But apparently, it’s not good enough for _some_ people,’ she said haughtily, looking mightily pissed off. Ezra, cowed from the censure of her earlier stare, glanced desperately at Luke for some context.

‘Han pulled out of tonight last minute,’ he explained lowly, ‘said that something “ _came up”-’_

‘He’s so full of shit,’ Leia seethed, ‘he just couldn’t be bothered to rent a tux and pretend to be a decent human being for once.’

‘It’s probably a good thing,’ Luke said cautiously, ‘at least your father won’t suspect anything now that Lando’s your date for the evening-’

‘And you think that’s any better?! He’s certainly an upgrade in many ways, but my parents will _never_ stop talking about it once they see us together,’ she groaned, ‘my mother will want to invite him over for dinner as soon as possible, then my father will start giving him “ _the talk”-’_

They occupied themselves with the state of Leia’s love life until a cab pulled up, signalling the arrival of Ezra’s tux. It was wielded by a very harried-looking seamstress whom Leia subtly tipped with a large wad of notes behind Luke’s back.

‘Right, we have an event to attend. Get that tux on,’ she thrust it in Ezra’s increasingly green face ‘and Lando and I will accompany you in. Luke, you need to get in there right now; you’re probably already missed.’

‘Do I _have_ to?’ Luke said petulantly.

‘Yes, otherwise they’ll be hounding you all night. Best to get it over with now.’

She gave him a little push up the stairs and he reluctantly left, a growing knot in his stomach.

Having been to the hotel before, he knew the layout fairly well, and had worked out an ingenious way to get into the main ballroom without having to walk the red carpet. It was a rippling vermillion sea of plastered-on smiles with too-white teeth and hard, calculating eyes.

He imagined himself in their place, and every cell in his body rebelled against the idea. Sneaking along the edge behind the crowd, he kept his head ducked down low, heart beating furiously. He knew Leia would swat him if she could see him right now, but he had never been easy in front of the cameras like she was.

His mistake was hesitating when he saw Vader in front of the sleek marble steps. He was shockingly handsome, and so still and striking that he almost became one with the architecture; a Grecian statue or a golden monument to some glorious war hero. If he was imposing on a normal day then in that moment he was absolutely formidable, lean and statuesque in a flawless tux and his ever-present black coat. He was a burning star amidst an asteroid field, a black hole that commanded everyone’s attention and reeled them in mercilessly.

The cameras couldn’t get enough of him, but it seemed he had had enough of them. His brows were drawn low over his eyes in a way that Luke was now intimately familiar with, and knew spelt impending trouble. He wondered how the lenses didn’t creak and shatter beneath that cold stony gaze.

‘This way, Mr Vader!’

Blinking rapidly as if released from an enchantment, Luke continued to creep his way behind the crowd. He stopped dead at the cry of his name. 

‘It’s him! Luke Lars-!’

Someone grabbed his arm, thrusting him towards the red carpet.

‘Luke, over here-!’

‘A shot of you together-!’

Luke didn’t have much of a choice as the person holding him pulled him through the crowd, pushing people out of the way, and yanked him right next to Vader. The excitement reached fever pitch as his heart plummeted, the crowd jostling for a good view.

He didn’t dare look to his immediate left.

‘Yes, perfect! Now stay right there,’ the cameraman who’d grabbed him said eagerly, pushing his way back to the front and craning to get the ultimate shot. They didn’t tell Vader to smile- Luke guessed they weren’t quite _that_ brave- but it still felt like he stood there for hours, blinded by the never-ending flashes and deafened by their greedy cacophony.

‘Get closer! Put your hand around him!’

Luke prayed to whatever deity was listening that they weren’t actually shouting that at _him,_ but the blood drained from his face as the clamours increased.

There was a sudden pressure on his upper back, and Luke swore his heart stopped beating for a few seconds, tripping over itself in its haste to catch up. He peeked at Vader, who was still staring straight ahead as if nothing had happened. His brow had lifted slightly, however, and his jaw, though still a solid line, wasn’t held taut like a bow string any longer. If Luke didn’t know better, he’d say he seemed almost relaxed. As for himself, Luke wasn’t sure how he was still standing, having felt his soul ascend to the heavens a few moments prior; but Vader’s grip, solid and firm and weirdly comforting, kept him solidly upright regardless.

‘This’ll make the front page of the Times! What an image!’

To stand still for so long was torture for a dancer like Luke. It was ingrained in his DNA to move, and his limbs shifted restlessly. He could only hope he didn’t appear as awkward as he felt. He must look so small and puny next to Vader, and he felt uncomfortable about the idea of people drawing comparisons between them. There was already an unnerving amount of gossip going around that Vader meant to make him his sole pupil. He could only imagine the field day the press would have if they knew that the boy standing next to Vader was really the son of Padmé Amidala. There would be a Netflix documentary before he could blink.

‘Beautiful, you two! You could almost be father and son!’

Luke shifted uncomfortably, daring another glance at Vader out of the corner of his eye. To anyone else they would’ve seen no difference, but Luke saw the way his mouth tightened slightly. Whatever the reason for Vader’s change of heart towards Luke, it only extended so far, and Luke wanted to scream at them to shut up before Vader lost what little patience he had left.

He couldn’t say they were totally wrong. They did share certain similar features- the wavy blonde hair, the blue eyes, the cleft chin- but so did billions of other people all over the world. It didn’t mean anything.

It did, however, offer a possible explanation for Vader’s blatant favouritism that had turned his castmates against him. Perhaps he saw something of his young self in Luke, given the physical resemblance, and wanted to take the credit for Luke’s success if he ever became as big a star. Luke could certainly believe Vader’s ego capable of that.

But it still didn’t completely hang together. There were plenty of blonde-haired, blue-eyed boys at the New York City Ballet, and countless dancers that matched that same description in other companies that were no doubt better than him. Why _Luke,_ of all people?

Perhaps it was because of Obi-Wan. Luke felt that Vader would take a personal satisfaction in stealing a dancer, and therefore the bragging rights to their training and subsequent success, from under his nose.

His thoughts were interrupted by more light pressure on his back, and he realised with relief that Vader’s patience had finally run aground as he steered Luke up the steps into the hotel. The crowd roared for their return, the camera flashing intensifying, but Vader made no sign that he’d noticed.

‘T-they want us to stay. It’s a charity event, they need lots of publicity,’ Luke started reluctantly, hating himself more with every word.

Vader snorted.

‘If that’s charity, then Maul is a philanthropist. We were there long enough. Whether or not they missed out on photos is their problem.’

Luke felt ridiculously grateful, not to mention intrigued by the mention of Maul. In their many lessons since Maul’s trespassing, Vader had acted like nothing had happened. He wanted to ask Vader who exactly the man was, how they knew each other, what he had been doing snooping around the New York City Ballet company at one am- but something had hardened again on Vader’s face, and he swallowed his questions.

They were inside the main lobby now, shielded from the paparazzi, and shown into an elegant lounge by an attendant. It was relatively empty, the majority of the guests still soaking up the attention on the red carpet. As they were gifted flutes of champagne, Luke noticed Vader still hadn’t removed his hand.

‘You seemed uncomfortable.’

He’d shifted suddenly from hard to soft, eyes searching and perceptive, but it didn’t make him any less intense. He didn’t let up or look away for one second so Luke had to, heaving an inward sigh of relief as his gaze passed instead over the twinkling chandeliers and the ornate fireplace.

‘I don’t like crowds or attention.’

Vader seemed almost amused.

‘If you don’t like attention, then why did you choose a career in the spotlight?’

Luke swivelled back to him, slightly annoyed.

‘I chose to become a dancer because I love to dance, not because I love to posture in front of a camera.’

‘Aren’t they the same thing?’

Vader was definitely laughing at him now, stormy eyes forecasting a fair tide as he disinterestedly sipped his champagne. Luke got the feeling he would rather down the whole thing, and couldn’t blame him.

‘Definitely not. Dancing is art; I don’t do it for attention or praise or fame. Not that there’s anything wrong with those,’ he said hastily, remembering who he was talking to, ‘they’re just not things that interest me.’

Vader appraised him; head cocked to one side. Luke recognised the motion. He did the same thing when he didn’t know what to make of someone.

‘That means you’re a dancer for all the right reasons, and for that I cannot fault you. However, I would warn that when someone has talent like you have, fame is never far behind. Are you ready for that, Luke?’

‘I don’t think I need to worry about that yet. Not until _Swan Lake_ is over- we both know that will make or break my career.’

Luke wasn’t sure when exactly he’d started talking so casually to Vader- it had begun sometime during their private lessons and unravelled from there- but in this public setting, he realised just how ridiculous it sounded. It was like releasing a tiger from its enclosure and expecting it not to pounce. He’d let his guard down around him, becoming far too comfortable in his presence, and in doing so he’d marked his own grave. Luke kept waiting for the death blow, for Vader to finally end this game of truce and swipe him off the board.

Though it didn’t show on his face, Vader was already as tired of the proceedings as Luke was. While he certainly wasn’t averse to showing off, these events were tiresome and tedious, made all the worse by the paparazzi and multiple men and women- some single, some very much not so- who thought his time and attention was a free commodity.

‘You will make the role your own, and then you will be thrust among the vultures, little swan. You must be ready to deal with it. Your life will change very quickly, and you need to have people around you that you can trust, who won’t lead you astray or attempt to profit from your talent...’

He trailed off, remembering Luke’s solitary entrance. ‘Did you come alone?’

‘No. I’m here with my b- I mean, my roommate, Ezra. He’s around here somewhere with Leia-’

‘You still have no significant other?’ he pressed, ignoring the boy’s bewildered expression. He shook his head, and Vader visibly relaxed.

‘Good. That is the best way to be. That is the only way. At this point in your career, you must focus solely on yourself. Relationships only cause heartbreak and distraction-’

‘And you speak from experience?’

Had anyone else spoken to him so snarkily, Vader would never have let it slide. But coming from Padmé’s child, her brilliant and bright son who kept her wit and fire alive, he found himself smiling. Luke’s expression was split half in horror, as if he wanted to retract the words, and half in defiance, like Padmé when she wouldn’t concede an argument.

‘You have much to learn, young one. In time you will see that I am right. You need only look at the charity that tonight’s event sponsors to be warned against planting your roots too quickly and carelessly.’

Perhaps this was beneath him, but it was worth it to see the defiance win out- so much like Padmé’s- and sparked by Luke’s own personal brand of outrage.

‘That’s… that’s _completely_ different, and you know it! You can’t just paint everyone with the same judgmental brush! Would you say that so comfortably if there was a single mother stood in front of you right now, alone and frightened and desperately trying to provide for her child?’ Luke ranted, trying to keep his voice even as he argued.

But Vader was no longer listening, Luke’s words replaced instead by a woman’s face; a face he had tried so hard to forget. Her dark hair was pulled back and her youthful expression was marked with premature stress lines, heavy bags under her eyes. Despite everything, she had always smiled, and she had always been kind.

_‘But I don’t want to leave you, mom! I don’t want things to change!’_

_‘You can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting, Ani.’_

_A soft brush against his cheek, a kiss on his forehead._

_‘Now, be brave, and don’t look back.’_

How selfishly he had heeded her words, the woman who generously gave and received nothing in return.

How he wished he hadn’t listened.

‘-And besides,’ Luke continued loftily, drawing Vader out of his hauntings, ‘my mother was a single parent.’

Vader froze, gripping the stem of his glass even tighter.

‘I thought you didn’t know anything about your mother, not even her name?’

‘I don’t, but I know that much. My father was long gone by the time I was born.’

Luke shifted, as if he’d shared far more than he’d planned to, but Vader was desperate, grasping, greedy.

‘What was his n-’

‘ _Luke!!’_

The sound of his name cut through the tension and they both turned to see Leia, flanked by Ezra and Lando, waving him over.

‘Leia’s here,’ Luke stated the obvious awkwardly, ‘I’d better go. But thanks for, you know, earlier.’

Vader watched him leave, wishing he could call him back, that he had enough authority and sway in the boy’s life to demand the truth. Because whatever he told Obi-Wan, the ghost of Anakin Skywalker had long laid awake inside him, and wouldn’t rest until he knew who’d won Padmé’s heart and fathered her son.

* * *

‘Will you tell her to drop that old pirate and give me a chance? She won’t even dance with me,’ Lando complained.

‘You underestimate my bravery. I may be her best friend but I don’t have a death wish.’

The ballroom was bustling, packed with clusters of people networking away from their allocated seats, encroaching on the polished dance floor that had been set up. The orchestra struggled valiantly to be heard over the clamour of the crowd, riding high on champagne and canapés. Famous faces could be seen everywhere, actresses and filmmakers and artists. Satine Kryze, a councillor for New York City as well as a leading socialite and patron of tonight’s charity, surveyed the proceedings from the high table with a disinterested eye. If the rumours were to be believed, she was most disappointed that Obi-Wan wasn’t in attendance.

The walls were adorned with prints auctioned for the charity sale, professional photographs of iconic performances. There were several prints of Obi-Wan, as well as most of his dancing lineage. The largest and most expensive however was a shot from _Giselle_ featuring the two most famous dancers of the day.

Though he had seen endless portraits and photographs of Padmé Amidala, it was nonetheless eerie to see his mother larger than life and on display for all to see, her sorrowful brown eyes seeming to never leave his face. It was even more disconcerting to see Vader lifting her into a flawless fish dive, as arrogant in his youth as ever, eyes ablaze with an emotion Luke couldn’t describe.

He knew they had danced together, of course. It seemed inevitable that the two prodigies had been paired together, and he envied those who had witnessed their glory first-hand. The reviews had said the world would never see a finer pas de deux than that of Vader and Amidala.

But somehow, being confronted with the evidence of it made Luke incredibly uncomfortable. He felt like an imposter in his own skin, and could only imagine what Vader would have to say if he ever, by some horrific twist of fate, found out the truth. On his own merit, Luke was a natural talent. In comparison to his mother’s skill, he was mediocre, and he knew Vader wouldn’t hesitate to tell him this if the unthinkable happened.

Leia had immediately taken Luke to one side when she spotted the photograph, worried for him. He hadn’t told her about the other half of the birth certificate, the complete lack of evidence that made up Anakin Skywalker. It was somehow shameful, and he didn’t need further pity. They hadn’t discussed Padmé Amidala in the many weeks since Luke had dropped the bombshell, but he knew she looked at him differently now, even if she didn’t realise it. This made him all the more determined to take his secret to the grave. He didn’t think he could bear it if Ezra found out.

‘I can arrange for us to move tables if it’s too much, Luke. You can’t be expected to sit there with your m- I mean, _that_ looming over your head all evening,’ she said quietly.

He forced a smile.

‘It’s fine, really. I can handle it. Besides, I think the only reason Ezra hasn’t bolted so far is because we’re sat in the corner.’

Leia couldn’t argue with this logic. By some blessed stroke of luck they had been seated on the edge of the crowd, which meant they could avoid unwanted social interaction more easily. This was a particular relief for Ezra who had less patience than the other three.

He spent a lot of time at the bar with Leia, picking up much-needed extra refreshment while Lando complained to Luke about Leia’s lack of interest. The waiters didn’t bring around nearly enough glasses of champagne for them to tolerate the fake smiles and shrill laughs of the other guests, who kept on finding them despite their best efforts to lay low. Luke wished he had some of Vader’s arrogance. The man had been allocated a seat at the high table with the charity committee but was mostly engrossed on his phone, and pointedly ignored everyone who tried to approach him.

His earlier reference to vultures rang in Luke’s mind like warning bells as guests descended on their table endlessly throughout the evening, fawning over them. Behind their simpering and flattery, Luke knew they were waiting for either him to slip up and dish some dirt on _Swan Lake’s_ directors. They quickly gave up when they saw they weren’t getting anywhere.

But even they weren’t as bad as the many dance company directors and agents that approached Luke over the course of the night, none-too-subtly interrogating him to see if he was renewing his contract after _Swan Lake_. He knew he should feel excited by the eager attention, but it instead filled him with dread. He hadn’t successfully danced the part, and knew that the price of their adulation had yet to be paid. They made him feel like a thoroughbred they were hastily placing their bets on, and it made the upcoming race all the more daunting.

‘You are always welcome at the Bolshoi, Mr Lars, as you are well aware,’ Wilhuff Tarkin said silkily, placing a slimy hand on Luke’s shoulder. He was on the board of directors and had been trying to ‘ _recruit’_ Luke for years, which in practice equated to thinly veiled harassment. ‘You would want for nothing with our training, which is far superior to whatever outdated method Kenobi insists on using. You are far too good for the likes of his company, and you know it. Lately he produces clones rather than true artists, of which you are the sole exception.’

Luke was relieved that Leia and Lando were deeply involved in a conversation with a well-known stage manager at that moment, or he was sure that Tarkin would not be standing upright any longer. 

‘I respectfully disagree. Obi-Wan has been a great mentor to me and my fellow dancers. Thank you for your gracious offer, as always, but I must decline it.’

Tarkin laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

‘No, no, that won’t do. Think of the _future,_ dear boy, _your_ future. Everything is about to change for you, and you must trust the ones that recognised your talent even when it was shrouded, rather than those seeking to capitalise on every passing star. If you are looking to broaden your horizons after your latest role-’

‘I understand, Mr Tarkin,’ Luke said, trying to extricate his shoulder, ‘but I haven’t made any decisions yet.’

The man smiled thinly, and Luke wished he hadn’t made the effort. It made his eyes even meaner.

‘I have heard the rumours about you and Vader. In the case that they are true, let me assure you that the Bolshoi wield enough power to sever any contract you might have agreed to prematurely-’

‘I am quite capable of reading the fine lines of contracts for myself,’ Luke said coolly, ‘and we have made no agreement. We haven’t even discussed it. The rumours are only that- rumours.’

Tarkin glanced left and right before inching even closer, invading Luke’s personal space. His hand clamped down harder, almost to the point of pain.

‘They may only be rumours for now, but I know Vader. I know what kind of man he is, and we both know that he won’t take no for an answer. When the time comes, you will want us on your side-’

He trailed off, eyes fixed on something over Luke’s shoulder. Luke turned to see Vader watching them intently, his eyes narrowed.

Tarkin straightened up swiftly and backed away, clearing his throat for the sake of onlookers.

‘Here’s my card, in case you change your mind.’

He slinked away before Luke could refuse, pocketing the card with a sigh. He had enough of these scattered around the apartment that they had started to become very useful for daily functions, such as bookmarks and confetti for their cat Artoo to play with.

‘Do I even want to ask what all that was about?’

Ezra returned with yet more drinks. The orchestra started playing a different song, a gentle plucking of swings before the violins swept into a [graceful melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSji5Gamq8Q&ab_channel=UschisChannel2).

‘I would much prefer it if you asked me to dance instead,’ Luke retorted, grabbing the glasses from him and downing one before taking his hand. ‘The night is still young, and we’re supposed to be having fun.’

‘This is _not_ my idea of fun,’ Ezra protested, looking more and more panicked as Luke led him over to the dancefloor, ‘Luke you know I can’t dance, why don’t you ask Lando or Leia? I’m sure that would go much better for you and your feet, they’re your livelihood after all and I don’t have enough savings if you decide to sue-’

‘I don’t want to dance with Lando or Leia, I want to dance with my boyfriend. And if you step on my feet, you’ll just have to make it up to me in other ways,’ Luke winked, dragging Ezra straight into the middle of the marbled floor beneath the largest chandelier. ‘Now, put your hand on my waist like this-’

‘-You… you really want me to put my hand there?’

Luke rolled his eyes.

‘This isn’t a regency drama, Ezra. There are plenty of ankles on show, and the room won’t spontaneously combust because you, god forbid, put your hand on my waist.’

‘Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when I sweep you off your feet. Quite literally.’

Luke leaned in with a smile, perhaps his first genuine smile of the night, and led them in a smooth waltz as the strings swelled. He felt pride when it took six whole counts before Ezra trod on his foot.

‘Changed your mind?’ Ezra said, his eyes sparkling.

‘No way. At least here I can get away from everyone, even if it means I have to put up with you maiming me.’

‘You sure about that? You looked cosy with Vader earlier, which is the only reason I didn’t ask him to step outside-’

‘Don’t even think about it, he’d pulverise you. And can we please change the subject, this is supposed to be a romantic moment!’

‘I’m just saying, I was surprised to see you on what looked like good terms. I was worried after all the stuff you’ve said about him, I prepared a speech and everything-’

‘How gallant of you. But I told you, for some reason he’s less of an asshole these days.’

‘He’s still on the scale though?’

Luke thought of Vader’s comment earlier, inadvertently shaming his mother.

‘Oh yes. He has a scale all of his own, though Tarkin is doing his best not to be outmatched.’

Ezra’s brow creased.

‘What is it with you and rich dance douchebags that look like they’re trying to one-up Michael Crawford?’

Luke laughed, remembering his first impression of Vader and how he had likened him to the phantom of the opera. Tarkin’s skeletal, ghostly look would certainly fit right in.

‘Beats me. I guess it’s my natural ingénue charm. Let’s just hope my opening night goes a bit better than Christine’s; or this evening, anyway.’

‘So the arrival of a certain dashing boyfriend didn't improve your night? Even a little?’

‘Maybe a _little_ , but he caused so much stress with his outfit disaster that it knocked off a few points,’ Luke teased.

‘Hey, it was a self-contained crisis! And it turned out pretty well- I look decent, though maybe not as good as you. You look like you were born for this,’ Ezra commented as they spun around.

‘For what?’

‘You know. The glitz, the glamour, the fame. This world that Vader wants you to be part of by the sounds of it.’ He jerked his head at the spectators, and Luke scrunched his nose in disgust.

‘I don’t want it. It’s Vader’s game, and he’s welcome to it.’

Ezra scoffed.

‘They really do kiss his ass around here, don’t they? Talking about him as if he’s some kind of god. I actually heard someone call him a king.’

‘And I guess that makes me a prince?’ Luke joked. Ezra blinked sheepishly.

‘Wait… they didn’t _actually_ say that, right?

‘You don’t want to know some of the things I’ve overheard tonight, believe me.’

Luke sighed.

‘Some prince I am. A prince who takes the subway to work and eats microwaved leftovers for dinner. They’re in love with a fantasy, the illusion that I’m one of them, when in reality I’m the complete opposite.’

‘You’re right,’ Ezra said seriously, ‘You’re nothing like them, and you never could be. You’re something much greater.’

Luke peeked around quickly for Vader, saw no sign of him, and kissed Ezra square on the mouth.

‘You really weren’t lying about sweeping me off my feet.’ 

Ezra smiled, feeling the shift of the small square box in his pocket.

‘When it comes to you, I never lie.’

They waltzed in silence for a few counts, Luke resting his head against Ezra’s chest and enjoying the rare moment of calm. If only it could always be like this-

‘Oh my god.’

‘Who is it? What’s wrong? Is it Vader?’

Luke shook his head impatiently, trying to point subtly to a posse of people by the French doors.

‘No, it’s _Jakku.’_

Ezra looked at him blankly.

‘Jakku? What’s that?’

‘Jakku is a _she,_ only one of the most famous choreographers in the world!! You must have heard me talk about her before?!’

Luke’s gaze was dreamy, and if Ezra was a lesser man he would’ve been envious.

‘To be fair, you do talk about a lot of people. It’s hard for me, a lowly light tech, to keep up with all these stars,’ Ezra drawled as Luke gently swatted him.

‘Hush, you know far more than you let on. She does more contemporary and modern dance than ballet, but I still can’t _believe_ she’s here. She’s usually conveniently absent from New York whenever these events come around-’

‘I like her way of thinking,’ Ezra muttered.

‘She’s so famous she can afford to blow off big parties,’ Luke said wistfully, ‘I’m nowhere near her level, but- _oh shit_.’

He turned back to Ezra, panic in his eyes.

‘Please tell me I’m dreaming and that she isn’t heading in our direction _right now_ -’

‘Er, she definitely _is_ coming over, and looking very excited at that-’

‘Luke Lars? Is that really you?’

Jakku was dazzling in an indigo velvet dress that flared out at the waist, and even higher heels than Leia was wearing. Luke barely had a moment to breathe before she engulfed him in a fierce hug, her tiny frame belying her powerful strength. 

‘Forgive me for interrupting, it’s just such a pleasure to finally meet you! I’ve been a fan for a long time,’ she gushed as she shook Ezra’s hand, brown eyes twinkling, and Luke was taken aback by how genuine she seemed. It was refreshing compared to the stale smiles and scheming eyes that had followed him around the ballroom all evening.

‘I…’

He had to take a moment to remember how to speak, and Ezra gracefully stepped in.

‘It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Ezra, Luke’s boyfriend. Can I get you a drink? I was just going to the bar to refresh Luke’s glass.’

Luke shot Ezra a look of grateful adoration, knowing that he was tactfully giving them some privacy.

‘How kind of you! I would love another champagne, though I’ve probably had one too many already…’

Ezra smiled, taking her glass.

‘I’m on it.’

Luke watched him leave, knowing his feelings were written all over his face from Jakku’s laugh.

‘You have a keeper there, Mr Lars.’

‘Please, just call me Luke. And yes; I’m a very lucky man.’

‘It must be nice to have someone so supportive, especially at events like this,’ she said wryly, casting an eye over the crowd. He knew then that he had found a kindred spirit in that she loathed them just as much as he did.

‘He’s incredibly patient, especially with all the extra rehearsals for _Swan Lake_ recently. We don’t spend as much time together as we used to.’

Luke wasn’t sure why he was confiding so much in someone he had only just met, but there was something very warm and open about her that he was immediately drawn to. She smiled sympathetically.

‘I understand. Dancing isn’t an easy route, and it’s not a life that many people would choose if they knew how difficult it really is. That’s why I chose choreography instead- slightly less pressure. But from what I’ve heard, you have nothing to worry about. Everyone here wants a piece of you; you even have Vader wrapped around your little finger.’

His cheeks flared.

‘You… you know about that?’

‘It’s an open secret. Vader never takes an interest in anyone and is notoriously private; naturally, everyone wants to know his business, and that business is currently you,’ she teased.

Luke grimaced.

‘It really isn’t as impressive as everyone makes it sound. He’s just helping me, that’s all.’

‘Don’t downplay your talent, Luke. Believe me; he must see something very special in you to be giving you his personal attention.’

‘Do you know him well?’ Luke asked curiously.

‘Not anymore, no.’

‘But you’ve worked with him?’

‘Never professionally. Our paths crossed briefly once… I was very young, and very naïve.’

She laughed, and for the first time there was something forced about it, so he quickly changed the subject to her latest dance show.

‘I have to give Obi-Wan the credit, really. He taught me everything I know,’ she said affectionately, and Luke couldn’t hide his astonishment.

‘Obi-Wan was your teacher?’

‘Yes, you might well be surprised. It was never publicised. I wasn’t part of their “lineage”,’ she briefly raised an eyebrow, ‘but he taught me anyway. Circumstances being what they were… well, it was difficult for me to go anywhere else, and he was kind to me.’

‘That sounds like him,’ Luke said with a small smile, ‘he enrolled me for scholarships without even asking when I arrived in New York. They were the only reason I could afford the training.’

‘Extoling Kenobi’s virtues, are we?’

They both wheeled around in surprise at the intruding voice, and two hearts plummeted as Maul smiled nastily.

‘We meet once again, Luke Lars. It seems fate is toying with us. And Rey… it has been too long. Tell me- have you thought of your dear grandfather recently, or is the name Palpatine still dead to you?’

* * *

It was a starless night, but the glare of the city would have obscured them regardless with its harsh fluorescent glow. Cigarette smoke trailed lazily into the air. Vader tapped his ash out onto the balcony railing, watching it tumble to the pavement below.

It was a relief to escape outside, to put up a physical barrier between himself and the guests. Tarkin, Satine Kryze and Jakku- all key players of a past he’d tried so hard to forget. He knew they would never approach him, and he’d thought he was long recovered from the pain of seeing so many familiar faces, but it seemed that Luke’s presence had fully reawakened Anakin Skywalker. Ever since the boy’s recent birthday- the night of Padmé’s death, where Vader had drunk himself into a stupor- their futures had become irrevocably intertwined.

He’d observed the boy secretly from the privacy of the balcony, watching as he danced with his roommate. Even if Luke had never brought Padmé’s shoes to the company building, Vader realised that he would have eventually guessed his heritage anyway. His light, quick movements were so like hers, and the way he scrunched his nose in distaste at his companion’s words sent a shuddering jolt through his heart.

He’d even managed to make Vader feel guilty, something that not many people could claim. He carried his own immense guilt, of course, and had for many years, but it was entirely fuelled by himself. Other people’s words never carried weight, except Luke’s. This guilt was something external, something that stemmed not from self-centred obsession but from genuine remorse. It was a strange, alien feeling that left Vader feeling like a scorned child, and he rectified it the only way he knew how- he opened his banking app.

Vader didn’t have much time for love, just as it had never had much time for him. Everything he’d ever cared for had been destroyed.

But even so, as he looked upon Padmé’s only child, the tender warmth in his chest could only be described as one thing.

He recoiled from it, scorning it, loathing himself for this debilitating weakness. Had he learnt nothing after all that had happened? The child wasn’t even _his;_ not his to love or claim or protect. Yet here he was, pledging the rest of his life to this boy who didn’t even realise who he was. Who Vader _could have been_ to him. 

Vader raised his eyebrows as Luke, evidently more inebriated than he’d suspected, kissed his companion boldly for all the world to see. _That_ was definitely a trait of the father’s, whoever he was, that reckless abandon which Vader had seen slip through Luke’s mask of serenity more than once. Padmé would never have been so careless in public.

Although kissing did not necessarily mean attachment and all that came with it, he frowned.

That would have to be swiftly dealt with.

When Jakku approached the pair, he finally looked away. Of course she would gravitate towards Padmé’s son. She most likely admired the boy for all the same qualities she’d admired in his mother, even if she did not realise it.

He wouldn’t intervene, however. Let the boy have his starstruck moment with her; it changed nothing. She was not a dance company threatening to steal Luke from him, and Vader knew that despite all that had passed between them, Luke’s respect for him remained. There was no one more powerful or influential in Luke’s life, and he intended for it to remain that way. He had no doubt that when he proposed his offer to the boy, he would accept. Despite all Luke’s earlier protests, Vader recognised the same hunger in him that he’d felt as a young man- not a desire for fame or money, but the need for perfection.

The balcony door slid open, releasing the sounds of the party to the night air before containing it again. Vader felt the presence, knowing him without seeing him. The corner of his mouth turned up grimly. Though he hadn’t planned for it to come to this, it was a turn of events that settled highly in his favour.

‘This balcony is occupied,’ he said dismissively, ‘leave.’

‘It’s a free country.’

‘It very much _isn’t_ , and even if it was, I repeat: this balcony is occupied _’._

‘You know, even if Luke hadn’t told me what an asshole you were, you do an excellent job of advertising it all by yourself,’ the boy snarked.

Vader wheeled around, bristling, ignoring the tiny pang of hurt that Luke had apparently called him that.

‘And why exactly should I care about your opinion?’ he said coldly, locking eyes with the brat.

‘Because you messed with Luke, and that means you mess with _me_. I’m telling you to back off and stop playing your twisted little mind games with him-’

Vader smiled nastily.

‘And who are you, hmm? More specifically, who are you to _him,_ Ezra Bridger? You’re _nothing.’_

The boy gaped.

‘How… how do you know my n-’

‘Anything can be bought for a price, and I’m outrageously wealthy. Wealth that you, a poor apprentice lighting technician, couldn’t even begin to imagine.’

‘But _why?’_

‘When I have an asset, I make it my business to know everything about them. I protect my investments,’ Vader said coldly. 

Confusion slowly evaporated to outrage.

‘Investment… you mean Luke? He is not a thing to be _owned_ , and least of all by you!’

‘Yet you seem to think _you_ have some kind of claim on him, which seems fairly ridiculous coming from an inconsequential roommate.’

This incensed him even more.

‘ _Roommate?!_ I’m his _boyfriend!_ We’ve been together for three years! _’_

Vader’s smile grew, even as he seethed inside. The boy had _lied,_ lied right to his face _._ He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Like mother, like son.

‘Oh, but that’s not what he told me. He said you were just a friend, which I’m more inclined to believe given the state of your apparel. What sort of boyfriend turns up to their other half’s special evening in an ill-fitting tux and thrift store shoes?’

The boy looked stunned, as outwardly hurt as Vader felt. Then his face hardened, and Vader rejoiced with a sick sense of satisfaction.

_Good_.

He enjoyed a challenge.

‘I don’t care what he told you. He would say anything to get you off his back. You probably filled his head with all kinds of crap about dancers being ruined by relationships. You’re just a bitter, washed up bully who’ll be out of his life in less than a month, and I think I know my own boyfriend better than you do-’

‘On the contrary, I am not going _anywhere_. I will be teaching Luke personally after _Swan Lake_ is over, and I will guide his career. You are just one of many who will come and go through his life, a passing fancy, and you should be thankful you even received a fraction of his attention,’ Vader growled.

‘A passing fancy? You call _this_ a passing fancy?’ Ezra retorted, brandishing a velvet box from his pocket and flipping it open in Vader’s face. ‘I’m going to propose to him, and if he’ll have me, I plan on sticking around for a very, very long time. Whatever weird hold you have on his career, whatever claim you think you have on him, I will be there every step of the way. And believe me when I say I will make your life _hell,_ old man.’

Vader paused. He hadn’t expected this wildcard.

He covered up his surprise quickly, casting a disparaging glance at the ring.

‘Cheap and tacky. Is that really the best you can do for a boy who puts diamonds to shame when he dances? When _I_ bought an engagement ring, I made sure it was only the very best for Luke’s mother-’

‘Yeah, that worked out really well for you didn’t it!’ Ezra burst out, advancing on Vader with clenched fists, when he suddenly stopped dead.

‘What…what did you just say?’

‘You are not wrong,’ Vader said lowly, softly, dangerously. ‘I was once just like you. A young naïve fool who loved someone never meant for me, aiming for the stars when I should have remained on the ground. The truth is, Ezra Bridger, that Luke’s light is too bright to be dimmed. He will always be centre stage, while you will always remain in the shadows, illuminating his glory but never grasping it. I learnt this lesson far too late, and that is how I lost Luke’s mother. I was unworthy of her, just as you are unworthy of Luke.’

The pieces of the jigsaw were slowly starting to slot together in Ezra’s mind, and his stomach churned unpleasantly.

‘So _that’s_ why you suddenly decided to stop bullying him,’ he breathed, ‘because you loved his mother. It’s nothing to do with him or his talent at all!’

This was untrue, but also irrelevant, as there was no way any child of Padmé’s could ever be mediocre. Luke was always destined for greatness, and Vader shrugged his accusations off.

‘Regardless, it changes nothing. We all have our place in life, Bridger, and yours is not by Luke’s side. I suggest you get used to this quickly before we encounter further problems.’

Ezra marched forward, eyes blazing and furious.

‘Listen here, _asshole._ I don’t care what you say or what you do. You won’t scare me away from Luke. The only way I’m leaving his side is if he tells me to.’

Vader smiled wolfishly.

‘You know, you could have made this _so easy,’_ he purred, ‘I was even prepared to give you a generous sum to keep your miserable life separate from Luke’s. But seeing as you refuse to listen to reason-’

He caught sight of something over Ezra’s shoulder through the balcony doors and brusquely shoved him aside, marching back into the ballroom at a frightening pace.

Ezra, who had been bracing himself for a fight, stared after him in bewilderment. What had distracted Vader so easily?

But as he watched the trajectory of the man’s designer shoes, he sprinted after him.

* * *

Vader threw himself at Maul, tackling him to the ground and sending a heavily laden table flying. Plates and glasses shattered on the marble floor, sending lethal shards scattering in every direction. 

‘Did you not get the message last time, you _rat?’_ he seethed, socking Maul square in the face and whipping his head to the right at a ninety-degree angle, ‘then let me _enlighten you.’_

The guests were screaming, some from pure terror and some in excitement as they watched the brawl. Jakku’s entourage had folded in around her, leaving Luke watching the fight in complete shock. He didn’t know how Maul had managed to get in past the extensive security, but the damage was done. He had called Jakku ‘Rey’ as if he knew her, the same name he’d mentioned when he broke into the dance company.

What did it all mean?

One thing was for sure. Rey knew. Her expression as Maul spoke had been pure unadulterated horror and disgust, with no small amount of anger.

The hotel staff were trying to reinstate calm as they shepherded the other guests to the sides of the ballroom to relative safety. One opportunist raised his camera, attempting to capture the incriminating shot, but it was swiftly plucked from his hands and crushed beneath the foot of a burly man wearing all black. They had spawned from nowhere, stopping people filming footage or taking photographs, erasing all tangible evidence. From their clothes they looked like regular security, but as the hotel security joined the fray, Luke realised the men were private guards- Vader’s men. They formed a protective circle around their boss as Luke watched Vader punch Maul over and over, blood spurting everywhere as hotel security tried and failed to intervene.

‘Stop! You’re going to kill him!’

He told himself he was solely concerned for Maul’s welfare, that the copious blood and the sound of bone cracking was too sickening to endure any longer. He couldn’t deny there was also a small selfish part of him that needed to keep Vader out of jail. If he got convicted for GBH, he couldn’t finish teaching Luke what he needed to know and _Swan Lake_ would suffer.

He shook off the callous thought, disgusted at himself; but it didn’t change the fact that it’d been there. It seemed that whatever he’d claimed to Vader earlier, the man’s ruthless ambition was beginning to rub off on him.

Vader hadn’t heard Luke, too caught up in his own frenzy. Maul was almost unconscious now, barely fighting back, and Luke started to get seriously worried that Vader would do something irreversible.

Darting between two heavily muscled guards, he tried to insert himself between Maul and Vader. He was sure that for all his other faults, Vader wouldn’t publicly punch him in the face, no matter how far gone he was. Luke dodged away from one guard’s grip as the other reached for him, his beefy arms outstretched to stop Luke getting involved.

It was a split second of bad judgement and unfortunate timing.

With a rush of agonizing pain that stole Luke's breath away, his face met the guard’s elbow with a violent crack. He staggered, nearly toppling over on top of Maul and Vader as a river of crimson gushed from his nose, spilling all over the floor. This finally snapped out Vader of his murderous attack.

‘ _Do not touch him’_ Vader gritted out, letting Maul’s unconscious body slump to the floor and attempting to get to Luke. The guards swarmed around them as Ezra arrived on the scene, closely followed by an increasingly horrified Leia and Lando. ‘Get him some first aid, _now!’_

The next twenty minutes were a blur for Luke. All he could really remember was seeing double of Ezra, which wasn’t wholly unpleasant, and someone dabbing at his nose with a silk napkin. Somewhat delirious, he feebly protested that the blood would ruin the fabric, but whoever it was ignored him.

A medic had arrived on the scene promptly and checked him over, shining a torch into his bleary eyes.

‘He’s not concussed, just dazed. Nothing’s broken thankfully, though he’ll have some pretty magnificent bruising.’

Rubbing his back, Leia looked him over worriedly.

‘But it’s nothing permanent, right?’ Lando asked.

‘Don’t worry about your friend, he’ll be fine. Compared to the other one, he looks positively a picture of health.’

By the time Luke became cognizant again, Maul was long gone, along with the guards and Vader. He didn’t want to think what might have happened in the aftermath in the dark alley ways behind the hotel.

‘Did I dream that whole thing?’ he muttered to Ezra who was helping him into his seat.

‘Unfortunately not. What the hell were you _thinking_ Luke, running in between them like that?’

‘Didn’t think,’ Luke murmured, holding a second napkin over his nose which was now only faintly trickling. Leia snorted, passing him a third.

‘You don’t say.’

‘From what you’ve told us, he obviously has some kind of obsession with Vader. He’s broken into the company and now he’s gate-crashed this party… what is he trying to get out of it?’ Lando said thoughtfully.

‘Beats me, but it is _not_ Luke’s problem,’ Leia said firmly, eyeing her best friend stonily, ‘let’s just get this evening over with before you do yourself any more damage. I’d quite like us all to get home in one piece.’

It seemed the hotel staff thought the same way, hastily escorting the guests back to their seats and assuring them there was nothing to worry about. As soon as everyone was relatively settled, the auction of the photographs began to try and distract the guests from the fistfight. Luke, still stunned from what had happened and his head still spinning, was only half paying attention.

If he’d been more aware of his surroundings he would have noticed the change in Ezra, who was suddenly quiet and subdued. His smile didn’t reach his eyes as Lando and Leia cracked jokes throughout the auction which was getting more ridiculous by the minute, the highlight of which was Satine Kryze launching into a furious bidding war over Obi-Wan’s photograph which she ultimately won.

The rest of the auction went by in a blur, every piece sold for a preposterous amount of money, but not quickly enough for Luke, who really just wanted to go home to the comfort of their small apartment and Artoo stretched out in front of the radiator.

Satine took to the stage, a forced smile on her face as she rattled through a rehearsed spiel.

‘And finally, I’d like to announce the final total raised for our charity this evening. We've had a very generous last-minute donation from an anonymous benefactor, the sum of which is-’

Her eyes goggled at the amount on her tablet.

‘- w-which must remain undisclosed, but it is indeed _extremely_ generous, ladies and gentlemen! So much so that we've exceeded our goal by a considerable amount! We've been requested to say that this donation is in honour of Luke Lars, and has been paid to the charity in his name.’

Luke flushed, feeling like a beacon in a black sea as everyone turned around to look at him in awe and envy. He wished he could crawl beneath the table, but his pounding head wasn’t keen on the idea.

‘Wow, Luke, got yourself a secret admirer. Who’s your sugar daddy?’ Lando drawled. Leia snickered into her champagne and Ezra glowered at her.

‘Not funny. But Lando has a point; who would donate that much money on your behalf, Luke? We don’t know anyone that rich.’

Luke wished they would all leave him alone, seeing as he had no more idea than they did.

‘Lastly, ladies and gentlemen, due to the unfortunate events of earlier on, you will all be required to sign a non-disclosure agreement before you leave the hotel. This is to protect the anonymity and reputation of our guests. Thank you for attending tonight’s event and please get home safely.’

This none-too-subtle dismissal left most of the guests disgruntled, and the ballroom slowly started to empty with a sad fizzle.

Luke gathered his things as Leia and Lando got ready to leave, still arguing with Ezra over who could have possibly donated the money. He tuned them out, trying to leave the table in a tidy state. The habit had been instilled in him by Beru and Owen on the rare occasions they dined out. As he went about his damage control with the unhealthy amount of glasses they had used, he briefly wondered where the first napkin had gone, soaked through with his blood. With a grimace he realised a waiter must have already collected it, and sent a silent apology to whoever the unfortunate soul had been.

‘Luke!’

The trio were nearing the doors now, waving impatiently at him to hurry up. His elbow was gently grabbed before he could join them, and he steeled himself for another altercation with Tarkin. Instead, he found a concerned Jakku. 

‘Luke, are you okay? I’m so sorry about what happened, I had no idea that he-’

She cut herself off, and Luke filled the awkward silence. 

‘I’m fine, nothing’s broken. Are you okay?’

She waved away his concerns. 

‘Absolutely. Listen, I’m sorry that tonight didn’t go as planned, but I would love to meet up again in a slightly less insane environment. Maybe a double date over coffee with Ezra and my man?’

She grinned brightly and his stomach sank, knowing that what he was about to say would probably end their fledgling friendship.

‘That would be amazing, but… could we meet just the two of us? As soon as possible. Over the next few days, if you can.’

She blinked, taken aback.

‘I… I should be free next week, but why the urgency? Is something wrong?’

Luke checked to make sure they weren’t being overheard, and drew her into the corner.

‘I heard Maul call you Rey earlier, your _real_ name,’ he said quietly, watching her face go ashen again, ‘and I know that you know what happened in the Japor Theatre Company all those years ago.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking a-’

‘What does the name Palpatine mean to you?’

She turned snow white in anger, her eyes narrowed slits, and there was something almost Vader-like about her in that moment.

‘ _Don’t_ repeat that name again.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said earnestly, ‘but I need to know. If you knew P- I mean, if you knew him and Maul, then you would’ve known my mother too. I need to know what happened to her.’

Her eyebrows rose up to her hairline.

‘Your- your mother?? I’m sorry Luke, but I left that life behind as soon as I could. It’s highly doubtful that I even knew your mother.’

Luke glanced to his right, where the enlarged photograph of Vader and Padmé hung. She followed his gaze, then looked back at him, then Padmé, then Luke.

‘What is this? You’re saying Padmé Amidala was your _mother_?’ she hissed, eyes roving over his face with intense scrutiny.

‘I know it seems farfetched, crazy, even, but it’s true. I’m adopted, and I only found out the truth recently. I have her ballet shoes and a birth certificate to prove it,’ he said patiently.

‘How… how old are you?’

‘I turned twenty-one recently.’

She was silent for a few moments.

‘I can see the resemblance,’ she said at last, and he heaved a sigh of relief, ‘but I’m still not sure how much I can help you. I did know her, but for a very brief time. I don’t think I can give you the answers you’re looking for-’

‘ _Please,’_ he said desperately, ‘you’re the only person I can trust! Maul is trying to uncover what happened between Vader and Obi-Wan, and I know my mother is somehow involved-’

‘So _that’s_ why Maul was here,’ she breathed, ‘he knows you’re Padmé’s boy, and he’s trying to get to you. And through you, he gets to Vader.’

There was a steely resolution in her eyes now.

‘I will meet with you, and I will help as much as I can. God knows Maul deserves his share of karma. But I need you to promise you’ll be careful, and you won’t go asking anyone else about this. Not even Vader. Okay?’

He nodded enthusiastically as Ezra came into view, Leia and Lando long gone.

‘I’ll text you a time and a meeting place. Take care of yourself until then.’

She squeezed his arm and, hesitating a moment, kissed him on the cheek.

‘Padmé was a sweetheart. Her son is just like her; she would be very proud.’

She smiled softly before crossing paths with Ezra to re-join her entourage.

‘What was all _that_ about?’ Ezra said, looking slightly baffled, ‘you’ve only just met and you’re best friends already? Should I warn Leia that she needs to look out for her crown?’

Luke shook his head.

‘Don’t ask. Can we please just go home now?’

‘The subway awaits, my prince,’ Ezra said drly, and Luke groaned.

‘No. We’re getting a cab home, money be damned. I’ve had enough drama and potential concussions for one evening.’

‘Yeah, maybe you have a point,’ Ezra conceded, looping his arm through Luke’s as they left the ballroom, ‘hey, maybe your mysterious benefactor could spare us the money-’

Luke elbowed him half-heartedly, and they were so busy bickering that neither of them saw Vader concealed in the shadows by the gilt doors, eavesdropping.

He opened his banking app for the second time that evening. In his other hand he carried a crumpled silk napkin, pure white stained with blood. His phone screen lit up silently with the text he had been impatiently waiting for.

_‘Fine. Send me the sample and I’ll have it analysed at the lab asap, but you owe me one. Aphra.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god they weren't roommates 
> 
> (I know that’s probably not how blood tests work but!!! This is a star wars ballet au after all so please suspend reality for a while 😊 And while we’re on that note, can we all pretend that cat Artoo is 100% something I’ve already written in and not something I’m going to badly photoshop into scenes once this fic is done pls and thank you)
> 
> Comments are incredibly motivating so please let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading 💖
> 
> Come scream about SW with me on [Tumblr](https://couronnedesfleurs.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleurscouronne).


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